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Pub]i;-,he(i  by  Harper  &Brother3,Newyork. 


VANITY     FAIR 


B  movel  wttbout  a  fbcvo 


WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

WITH  ILL  USTRA  TIONS  BY  THE  A  UTHOR 
AND  A  PORTRAIT 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

1902 


THE  BIOGRAPHICAL  EDITION  OF 

W.  M.  THACKERAY'S  COMPLETE  WORKS 

Edited  by   Mrs.  Anne  Thackeray   Ritchie 


The  volumes  are  issued  as /ar  as  possible  in  order  of  original  publication 


1.  VANITY  FAIR 

2.  PENDENNIS 

3.  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS,  Etc. 

4.  BARRY  LYNDON,  Etc. 

5.  SKETCH  BOOKS 

6.  CONTRIBUTIONS   TO 

"PUNCH,"  Etc. 


7.  HENRY  ESMOND,  Etc. 

8.  THE  NEWCOMES 

9.  CHRISTMAS  BOOKS,  Etc. 

10.  THE  VIRGINIANS 

11.  PHILIP,  Etc. 

12.  DENIS  DUVAL,  Etc, 

13.  MISCELLANIES 


Illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops, 
^i  7S  per  volume 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 
NEW    YORK     AND     LONDON 


V^Ne^"^ 


O 


A  ^  5^.  o^ 


Copyright,  1898,  by  Hakpek  &  BrothSss 
AU  rights  rturvtd 


HA/ A] 


*  *  *  MY  Father  never  wished  for  any  Biography  of  him- 
self to  be  written,  and  for  this  reason  I  have  never  attempted 
to  vrrite  one.  It  is  only  after  a  quarter  of  a  centwry  that 
I  have  determined  to  publish  memories  which  chiefly 
concern  his  books.  Certain  selections  from  his  letters  are 
cUso  included,  which  tell  of  the  places  where  his  work  was 
done,  and  of  the  times  when  he  wrote.  So  much  has  been 
forgotten,  so  much  that  is  ephemeral  has  been  recorded,  that 
it  is  my  desire  to  mark  down  some  of  the  truer  chords  to 
which  his  life  was  habitually  set.  For  this  reason  I  have 
included  one  letter  to  my  Mother  aTnong  the  rest :  it  vdll 
show  that  he  knew  how  to  valus  the  priceless  gifts  of  home 
and  of  happiness  while  they  lasted,  as  well  as  to  bear  trouble 
and  loneliness  when  they  fell  upon  him. 

A.  I.  R. 

November  28,  1897. 


91597? 


y 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION .XT 

DEDICATION    TO   THE    ORIGINAL   EDITION       .            .            .            .         xU 
BEFORE    THE    CURTAIN xM 

OHAP. 

I.       CHISWICK    MALL 1 

II.       IN   WHICH  MISS   SHARP   AND   MISS   SEDLET  PRBPAKS 

TO    OPEN    THE    CAMPAIGN  ....  7 

III.  REBECCA   IS   IN   PRESENCE   OF  THE   ENEMY        .  .  16 

IV.  THE    GREEN    SILK    PURSE 23 

V.       DOBBIN    OF    OURS  .  .  .  .  .  .35 

VI.       VAUXHALL 45 

VII.  CRAWLEY    OF   QUEEN's    CRAWLEY     .            .            .            .57 

VIII.  PRIVATE    AND    CONFIDENTIAL             .            .            .            .64 

IX.       FAMILY    PORTRAITS 73 

X.  MISS    SHARP    BEGINS    TO    MAKE    FRIENDS               .            ,          80 

XI.       ARCADIAN    SIMPLICITY 86 

XII.  QUITE    A    SENTIMENTAL    CHAPTER                .            .            .100 

XIII.  SENTIMENTAL   AND    OTHERWISE        .  .            .            .108 

XIV.  MISS   CRAWLEY   AT   HOME 119 

XV.     IN  WHICH  Rebecca's   husband   appears   for   a 

SHORT  time 136 

XVI.      the   letter   on   the   PINCUSHION  .  .  .144 

XVII.       HOW    CAPTAIN    DOBBIN    BOUGHT    A    PIANO  .  .152 

XVIII.       WHO     PLAYED     ON     THE     PIANO     CAPTAIN     DOBBIN 

BOUGHT  1  ....  ,  .       160 

to 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

XIX. 
XX. 


XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

ILL 

XLII. 
XLIII. 


MISS   CRAWLEY   AT   NURSE           .            .            .            .171 
IN   WHICH    CAPTAIN   DOBBIN   ACTS   AS   THE   MES- 
SENGER  OF   HYMEN 181 

A   QUARREL   ABOUT   AN   HEIRESS  .  .  .190 

A   MARRIAGE   AND   PART   OF   A   HONEYMOON  .       199 

CAPTAIN   DOBBIN   PROCEEDS   ON    HIS   CANVASS       .       207 
IN     WHICH     MR.      OSBORNE     TAKES     DOWN     THE 

FAMILY   BIBLE 213 

IN     WHICH     ALL     THE     PRINCIPAL      PERSONAGES 

THINK    FIT   TO    LEAVE   BRIGHTON  .  .  .225 

BETWEEN   LONDON   AND   CHATHAM       .  .  .       243 

IN    WHICH    AMELIA    JOINS    HER   REGIMENT  .  .       250 

IN  WHICH  AMELIA  INVADES  THE   LOW  COUNTRIES      256 

BRUSSELS 265 

"THE   GIRL   I   LEFT   BEHIND   ME "         .  .  .277 

IN    WHICH     JOS     SEDLEY     TAKES      CARE     OF    HIS 

SISTER  .  .  ...       286 

IN   WHICH  JOS   TAKES  FLIGHT,    AND   THE  WAR   IS 

BROUGHT    TO    A    CLOSE  .  .  .  .297 

IN    WHICH    MISS     Crawley's    relations    are 

VERY    ANXIOUS    ABOUT    HER  .  .  .312 

JAMES  Crawley's  pipe  is  put  out  .         .         .322 
WIDOW  AND  mother 337 

HOW   TO    live    well   ON    NOTHING    A  YEAR  .       347 

the    SUBJECT    CONTINUED 355 

A    FAMILY    IN   A    VERY    SMALL   WAY    .  .  .369 

A    CYNICAL    CHAPTER 382 

IN      WHICH      BECKY     IS      RECOGNISED      BY      THE 

FAMILY 391 

IN    WHICH   BECKY    REVISITS    THE    HALLS    OF    HER 

ANCESTORS 399 

WHICH   TREATS    OF   THE    OSBORNE    FAMILY  .  .410 

IN  WHICH  THE  READER  HAS  TO  DOUBLE  THE  CAPE      417 


CONTENTS 


OHAP. 
XLIV. 


XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 

L. 
LI. 

LII. 

LIII. 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 

LVIII. 

LIX. 

LX. 

LXI. 

LXII. 

LXIII. 

UCIV. 

LXV. 

LXVI. 

LXVII. 


XI 

PAQI 


A    ROUNDABOUT    CHAPTER   BETWEEN    LONDON   AND 

HAMPSHIRE 426 

BETWEEN   HAMPSHIRE   ^.ND   LONDON  .  .      436 

STRUGGLES    AND    TRIALS         .....       445 

GAUNT    HOUSE 453 

IN    WHICH    THE    READER    IS    INTRODUCED    TO    THE 

VERY    BEST    OF    COMPANY       .  .  .  .461 

IN     WHICH     WE     ENJOY    THREE     COURSES     AND     A 

DESSERT 472 

CONTAINS   A    VULGAR   INCIDENT     .  .  .  .479 

IN    WHICH   A    CHARADE   IS    ACTED    WHICH    MAY   OR 

MAY   NOT    PUZZLE    THE    READER    .  .  .487 

IN    WHICH    LORD     STEYNE     SHOWS     HIMSELF    IN    A 

MOST    AMIABLE    LIGHT  ....       504 

A   RESCUE   AND   A   CATASTROPHE  .  .  .  .513 

SUNDAY    AFTER    THE    BATTLE  ....       522 

IN   WHICH    THE    SAME    SUBJECT    IS    PURSUED  .       530 

GEORGY   IS   MADE   A   GENTLEMAN  .  .  .       544 

EOTHEN 555 

OUR   FRIEND    THE    MAJOR 563 

THE    OLD    PIANO  .  .  .  .  .  .       574 

RETURNS    TO    THE   GENTEEL   WORLD        .  .  .       584 

IN    WHICH    TWO    LIGHTS    ARE    PUT    OUT  .  .590 

AM    RHEIN 603 

IN   WHICH   WE   MEET   AN   OLD   ACQUAINTANCE  .       613 

A   VAGABOND    CHAPTER 624 

FULL    OF    BUSINESS    AND    PLEASURE         .  .  .639 

AMANTIUM    IR^ 647 

WHICH  CONTAINS  BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS      661 


^ 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PORTRAIT   OF   THE    AUTHOR 


Frontispiect 


MAJOR   AND    MRS.    HOBKIRK    FOR   THE    CONTINENT 

students'  duel  at  GODESBERG 

HUMMEL 

DEVRIENT 

A  lady's  glance  at  the  author  . 

Thackeray's  home  in  young  street,  Kensington 

designs  for  the  cover  of  "vanity  fair"    . 

amelia  waiting  in  russell  square 

studies  for  the  miss  osbornes 

the  mesmerizer 


PAGE 

xix 

XX 

xxi 

xxii 
xxiii 
xxvi 
xxix 
xxxi 
xxxii 
xl 


REBECCA  S  FAREWELL    .     •     •     . 

MR.  JOSEPH  ENTANGLED  .     . 

REBECCA  MAKES  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  A  LIVE 

BARONET 

MISS    CRAWLEy'b    affectionate    RELATIVES 

MR.   OSBORNE's    WELCOME    TO    AMELIA 

THE    NOTE    ON    THE    PINCUSHION 

MR.    8KDLEY    AT    THE    COFFEE-HOUSE  . 

A    FAMILY    PARTY    AT    BRIGHTON 

MRS.    o'dOWD    at    THE   FLOWER    MARKET       . 

xlii 


To  face 'page     4 
32 

60 


114 

148 
184 
230 
262 


XIV 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


MR.  JOS    SHAVES    OFF    HIS    MUSTACHI08 
MRS.   RAWDOn's    departure    FROM    PARIS  . 
GEORGY   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE   WITH    A  WATER 
LOO    MAN  

SIR  Pitt's  last  stage    .... 

BECKY    IN    LOMBARD    STREET       . 
GEORGY    GOES    TO    CHURCH    GENTEELLY 
COLONEL    CRAWLEY    IS    WANTED 

SIR  Pitt's  study-chair  .... 

GEORGY  A  GENTLEMAN  . 
A  FINE  SUMMER  EVENING 
VIRTUE    REWARDED,  A    BOOTH    IN    VANITY    FAIR 


To  face  page 

302 

»> 

352 

•            » 

366 

»            11 

392 

11 

470 

*            11 

484 

•            11 

504 

11 

524 

*            11 

644 

'            11 

606 

11 

674 

FACSIMILE      OP     JOS      SEDLEY  S      LETTER      AS      IT 
APPEARS      IN      THE      ORIGINAL     MANUSCRIPT 

OF  "vanity  fair" 


54 


r 


INTRODUCTION 

TO 

VANITY   FAIR 

1817— 1845-8 

I. 

I  CANNOT  help  thinking  that  although  "  Vanity  Fair "  was 
written  in  ^45^nd  the  following  years,  it  was  really  begun  in 
181 7,  when  tKemtle  boy,  so  lately  come  from  India,  found  him- 
self shut  in  behind  those  filigree  iron  gates  at  Chiswick,  of  which 
he  writes  when  he  describes  Miss  Pinkerton's  establishment. 
Whether  Miss  Pinkerton  was,  or  was  not,  own  sister  to  the  great 
Doctor  at  the  head  of  the  boarding-school  for  young  gentlemen 
on  Chiswick  Mall,  to  which  "  Billy  boy  "  (as  the  author  of  "  Van- 
ity Fair  "  used  to  be  called  in  those  early  days)  was  sent,  remains 
to  be  proved.  There  is  certainly  a  very  strong  likeness  between 
those  two  majestic  beings,  the  awe-inspiring  Doctor  and  the  great 
Miss  Pinkerton,  whose  dignity  and  whose  Johnsonian  language 
marked  an  epoch  in  education.     I  myself  remember,  as  a  child, 

hearing  it  said  in  the  family,  that  when  Dr. used  to  read  the 

Ten  Commandments  of  a  Sunday  to  his  boys  and  the  rest  of  the 
people  assembled,  his  wife  and  several  members  of  the  congre- 
gation had  been  heard  to  declare,  that  to  hear  his  resounding 
tones  reminded  them  of  Mount  Sinai  itself  ! 

Perhaps  the  little  Indian  boy  did  not  realise  this  resemblance, 
nor  enjoy  his  privileges  so  much  as  he  might  have  done.  He  was 
not  at  all  happy,  he  has  told  us,  in  either  of  his  early  schools, 
although  he  was  kindly  treated  at  Chiswick  by  the  Doctor  and 
his  wife,  who  were  indeed  some  distant  connections  of  my  grand- 


> 


xvi  VANITY   FAIR 

mother's.  In  later  days,  driving  to  Richmond  and  elsewhere,  my 
father  has  shown  us  the  corner  of  the  lane  by  the  Hammersmith 
Road  to  which  he  ran  away  soon  after  he  first  came  to  Chiswick ; 
then  being  frightened,  perhaps,  by  the  great  Hammersmith  Road, 
and  not  knowing  where  to  go,  he  ran  back  to  school  again,  and 

no  one  was  the  wiser.      He  was  still  at  Dr. 's  when  his 

mother  and  his  stepfather  came  home.  My  grandmother  in  a  letter 
to  India  has  described  the  meeting,  and  how  she  went  to  fetch  her 
boy  from  school.  "  He  had  a  perfect  recollection  of  me ;  he  could 
not  speak,  but  kissed  me,  and  looked  at  me  again  and  again,  and 
I  could  almost  have  said, '  Lord,  now  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant 
depart  in  peace.'  He  is  the  living  image  of  his  father,  and  God  in 
heaven  send  that  he  may  resemble  him  in  all  but  his  too  short  life ! 
He  is  tall,  stout,  and  sturdy.  His  eyes  are  become  darker,  but 
there  is  still  the  same  dear  expression.  His  drawing  is  wonderful." 

My  father  must  have  been  a  sensitive  little  boy  of  nine  or  ten 
years  old  in  those  days,  quick  to  feel,  not  over  strong,  but  well- 
grown,  and  ruddy  in  looks.  He  was  always  very  short-sighted ; 
and  he  has  told  me  that  this  in  his  school-days  was  a  great  trouble 
to  him,  for  he  could  not  join  in  the  games  with  any  comfort  or 
pleasure,  nor  even  see  the  balls  which  he  was  set  to  stop  at  cricket. 
Soon  after  his  parents'  return  he  quitted  Miss  Pinkerton's  estab- 
lishment and  went  to  Charterhouse,  which  hardly  comes  into 
"  Vanity  Fair."  Swishtails  was  not  Grey  Friars,  and  I  have  al- 
ways wondered  where  the  great  fight  between  Cuff  and  Dobbin 
took  place.  Russell  Square  and  Jos  Sedley  and  Boggly  wollah,  all 
belong  to  very  early  impressions.  My  father's  holidays  must  have 
often  been  spent  in  the  streets  round  about  Russell  Square  ;  sev- 
eral members  of  his  stepfather's  family  were  then  settled  in  that 
district.  Dr.  Carmichael-Smyth,  the  well-known  physician,  who 
was  alive  in  those  days,  had  a  house  in  the  neighbourhood. 

There  is  a  lovely  picture  of  his  wife  by  Romney,  gracious  and 
beautiful  in  white  and  powder,  a  painting  my  father  greatly 
admired.  The  lady  was  Miss  Smyth  of  Athernay,  and  by  her 
marriage  with  Dr.  Carmichael  she  became  Mrs.  Carmichael-Smyth, 
and  the  mother  of  numerous  daughters  and  handsome  sons.  She 
was  no  longer  alive  when  my  grandmother  and  her  husband  came 
home  from  India  to  the  Paternal  Roof.  My  step-grandfather  was 
among  the  first  of  those  many  "  brave  young  men,  soldiers  for  the 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

most  part,"  says  the  author  of  "  Denis  Duval "  in  one  of  the  last 
chapters  he  ever  wrote,  "  who  told  of  Bhurtpore,  of  Bergen  op 
Zoom,  of  Waterloo."  One  of  the  daughters  was  painted  by 
Raeburn — a  charming  portrait,  which  hangs  on  our  walls.  It 
belonged  to  my  step-grandfather,  from  whom  it  came  to  us. 

That  eventful  time  was  not  history  only  to  the  people  who  were 
born,  as  my  father  was,  in  the  first  years  of  the  century.  It  meant 
real  life,  near  relations,  hearts  aching  or  throbbing  with  gratitude 
and  exultant  relief.  To  him  it  must  have  come  in  all  the  echoes  of 
the  voices  with  which  he  lived  as  a  boy.  He  was  eleven  years 
old  when  he  went  to  Charterhouse  in  1822,  only  seven  years 
after  Waterloo  was  fought.  In  the  August  of  that  year,  1822, 
Major  Carmichael-Smyth  was  appointed  Governor  to  Addis- 
combe.* 

In  one  of  his  earliest  letters  to  his  mother  from  Charterhouse, 
the  little  boy  asks  to  be  told  all  about  "  Addiscombe  and  the  gen- 
tleman cadets,  and  if  papa  has  got  a  cock-hat  that  will  fit  him." 
From  the  age  of  eleven  to  thirteen  he  spent  his  holidays  at  the 
college.  One  cannot  help  also  speculating  whether  the  original 
King's  Crawley  may  not  have  lain  somewhere  in  that  neighbour- 
hood. The  Governor  of  Addiscombe  did  not  remain  there  very 
long;  after  two  years  he  resigned  his  post,  and  removed  with 
his  family  to  Pendennis-land. 

Meanwhile  my  father  had  been  coming  and  going  from  Charter- 
house. At  Charterhouse  afterwards,  as  a  big  boy,  he  seems  to 
have  had  far  more  agreeable  impressions  of  Chiswick  than  during 
his  earlier  experiences.  It  is  in  February  1828  that  he  mentions 
going  back  there  on  half -holidays.    "  Very  gracious  they  were  :  I 

played  two  games  of  chess  with  Mrs. ,  and  two  rubbers  of 

whist  with  the  young  ladies."  Elsewhere  in  this  same  home  letter 
from  Charterhouse  he  continues:  "  I  have  only  read  one  novel  since 
I  came  back,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  not  read  another.  I  have  not 
yet  drawn  out  a  plan  for  my  stories,  but  certain  germs  thereof  arc 
budding  in  my  mind,  which  I  hope  by  assiduous  application  will 
flourish  yet  and  bring  forth  fruit."  .  .  .  Then  he  apologises  for 

*  In  Colonel  Vibart's  records  of  Addiscombe,  he  says  it  may  be  noted  as  a 
matter  of  interest  that  Thackeray  was  during  his  bojhood  an  inmate  of  the 
mansion  there. 


xviii  VANITY  FAIR 

writing  so  much  every  day.  "  I  always  feel  as  if  I  were  at  home 
when  I  am  writing,"  he  says ;  "  and  although  it  may  give  you 
very  Httle  amusement,  it  is  certainly  very  amusing  to  me — that 
is  to  say,  when  once  I  begin." 

The  author  of  "Vanity  Fair"  was  born  in  1811,  and  must 
therefore  have  been  four  years  old  at  the  time  of  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  ;  but  Becky  and  Jos,  and  Amelia  and  Dobbin,  were  all 
grown  up,  and  out  in  the  world  by  then.  In  "  Vanity  Fair  "  it- 
self we  are  told  how  the  author  met  them  at  Pumpernickel  in 
later  years,  when  he  was  a  student,  and  when  Dobbin  and  the 
Sedleys,  all  well  advanced  in  life,  were  touring  abroad  for  rest 
and  relaxation.  The  little  comfortable  grand  ducal  town  of  Pum- 
pernickel, whither  Jos  and  his  party,  and  Major  Dobbin,  on  his 
return  from  India,  all  travelled  together,  is  familiar  to  all  readers 
of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  ;  and  so  is  the  carriage,  and  the  courier  on  the 
box,  and  the  Erb  Prinz  Hotel,  where  the  whole  party  dined  at 
the  table  d'hdte.  Major  and  Mrs.  Hobkirk  were  perhaps  present 
on  this  occasion.     Their  portraits  are  here  given. 

One  of  the  first  of  the  letters  from  Germany,  dated  Coblentz, 
July  31, 1830,  gives  prevailing  fashions  of  churches,  and  sketches 
of  the  Castled  Crag  of  Drachenfels^  and  of  the  people  on  board — 
one  man  would  do  for  a  buccaneer,  says  my  father.  The  next 
letter  contains  a  sketch  of  a  students'  duel  at  Godesberg.  One 
letter  from  my  father  to  his  mother,  dated  September  29,  1830, 
might  almost  be  a  page  out  of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  itself,  so  absolute- 
ly does  it  reproduce  the  atmosphere  of  Pumpernickel  and  the 
echoes  of  that  time. 

"  You  see  the  direction  to  my  letter — Weimar — which,  with 
your  good  leave,  will  be  my  direction  while  I  remain  in  Ger- 
many. On  arriving  here  I  found  an  old  schoolfellow,*  who  is 
staying  with  a  German  family,  and  who  said  that  the  place  was 
exactly  suited  for  me." 

**  It  seems  that  the  old  Grand  Duke  had  a  great  love  for  Eng- 

*  I  believe  that  Mr.  Lettsom  (afterwards  less  comfortably  established  as 
a  diplomat  in  South  America)  was  the  friend  with  whom  ray  father  lived  at 
this  time.  Dr.  Norman  Macleod  was  also  in  Weimar  that  winter,  and  they 
all  three  learnt  German  from  Dr.  Weissenborue. 


i»S0ll^ 


INTRODUCTION 


XIX 


lish  manners  and  English  men ;  and  though  the  present  Duke  is 
not  quite  so  prepossessed  in  our  favour,  yet  he  is  happy  to  see  all 
the  Englishmen  who  come  here — and  there  are  generally  three 
or  four  residing  at  his  Court.  A  have  accordingly  had  a  pair  of 


MAJOR   AND   MRS.    HOBKIRK   FOR   THE    CONTINENT. 


trousers  cut  into  breeches,  and  have  had  the  honour  of  making 
my  appearance  in  his  august  presence.    There  is  a  capital  library, 
which  is  open  to  me ;  an  excellent  theatre,  which  costs  a  shilling 
per  night ;  and  a  charming  petite  societe^  which  costs  nothing. 
"  Goethe,  the  great  lion  of  Weimar,  I  have  not  seen,  but  his 


XX 


VANITY   FAIR 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

daughter-in-law  has  promised  to  introduce  me.  So  much  for 
Weimar,  which  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  is  as  good  a  place 
as  I  could  possibly  select  for  my  stay  in  this  country.  .  .  . 

"  I  slept  at  Gotha  and  came  o*  here,  and  here,  I  trust,  will  end 
my  travels ;  for  though  the  society  is  small  (he  continues),  it  is 
remarkably  good ;  and  though  the  Court  is  absurdly  ceremoni- 
ous, I  think  it  will  rub  off  a  little  of  the  rust  which  school  and 
college  have  given  me." 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  a  very  absurd  favour ;  I  want  a  cor- 
netcy  in  Sir  John  Kennaway's  yeomanry.  The  men  here  are  all 
in  some  uniform,  and  if  hereafter  I  go  to  other  Courts  in  Ger- 
many, or  in  any  other  part  of  Europe,  something  of  this  sort  is 
necessary  as  a  Court  dress.  It  is  true  that  here  I  can  do  without 
it,  but  in  case  of  my  going  elsewhere  I  must  have  some  dress  or 
other  ;  and  a  yeomanry  dress  is  always  a  handsome  and  respect- 
able one.  As  it  is,  I  have  to  air  my  legs  in  black  breeches,  and 
to  sport  a  black  coat,  black  waistcoat,  and  cocked  hat ;  looking 
something  like  a  cross  between  a  footman  and  a 
Methodist  parson.  .  .  .  Last  night  we  had  at 
the  theatre  a  translation  of  "  Hernani,"  the  trag- 
edy by  Victor  Hugo  which  made  so  much  noise 
in  Paris.  I  would  recommend  you  to  read  it  if 
possible.  We  have  had  three  operas,  "  Medea," 
and  the  "Barber  of  Seville,"  and  "II  Flauto 
Magico."  Hummel  conducts  the  orchestra — 
here  is  a  picture  which  is  somewhat  like  him  for 
Mary.  The  orchestra  is  excellent,  but  the  singers  are  not  first- 
rate." 

Another  letter  gives  an  interesting  account  of  Devrient,  with 
a  sketch : — 

"  I  went  to  Erfurt  the  other  day  to  see  the  "  Robbers,"  a  play 
which  is  a  little  too  patriotic  and  free  for  our  Court  Theatre. 
An  actor  of  this  place  accompanied  me  and  took  me  behind  the 
■cenes,  thereby  revealing  to  me  all  the  mysteries  of  a  German 
theatre.  He  introduced  me  to  Devrient,  the  Kean  of  Germany, 
who  in  several  particulars  resembles  his  illustrious  brother  of 
the  buskin. 

"  His  great  character  is  Franz  Moor  in  the  "  Robbers,"  and  I 
think  I  never  saw  anything  so  terrible.    There  is  a  prayer  which 


XXll 


VANITY   FAIR 


Franz  makes  while  his  castle  is  being  attacked,  which  has  the 
most  awful  effect  which  can  well  be  fancied :  *  I  am  no  common 
murderer,  mein  Herr  Gott.'  That  picture  is  as  like  the  man  as 
may  be,  which  is  saying  a  great  deal — but  I  have  done  nothing 
but  practise  drawing  his  face  since  I  saw  it. 
'' Jan.  2S,  1831." 


We  know  how  much  Sedley  and  his  party  enjoyed  their  visit 
to  the  theatre,  and  how  greatly  Amelia  was  admired  when  she 

appeared  there,  and  we  have  also 
read  how  charming  she  looked  at 
the  Grand  Duke's  ball.  My  fa- 
ther made  a  sketch  of  himself 
on  that  occasion  m  the  cele- 
brated knee-breeches  and  cocked 
hat,  and  sent  it  to  Edward  Fitz- 
gerald. 

"  I  have  got  a  book  into  which 
I  paste  the  play-bills,"  he  con- 
tinues, writing  to  his  mother. 
"I  have  fallen  in  love  with  the 
Princess  of  Weimar,  who  is  un- 
luckily married  to  Prince  Charles 
of  Prussia.  I  must  get  over  this 
unfortunate  passion,  which  will 
otherwise  bring  me  to  an  un- 
DivRiENT.  timely  end.     There  are  several 

very  charming  young  persons 
of  the  female  sex  here.  Miss  A —  and  ditto  Miss  B —  are  the 
evening  belles.  As  I  have  delayed  my  letter  a  week,  I  must 
write  again  next  week,  and  I  will  send  you  a  couple  of  transla- 
tions from  Korner,  which  will,  I  think,  amuse  you ;  they  ought 
to,  were  they  anything  like  the  original.  .  .  .  Write  to  me,  *  bei 
Madame  Mellor^  at  Weimar.'  " 

I  can  remember  my  father  pointing  in  after  years  to  the  win- 
dows of  his  old  rooms,  looking  out  into  the  Platz,  upon  which 
the  afternoon  sun  was  shining  full. 

Here  is  one  more  extract  from  the  correspondence  of  this 
time,  together  with  the  drawing  which  belongs  to  it : — 


INTRODUCTION 


XXlll 


"  Blinded  by  the  rays  of  her  eyes,  I  am  giving  myself  ecstat- 
ically up  to  —  I  can't  finish  the  sentence.  You  must  fancy 
another  picture,  in  which  the  new-comer  is  standing  between 
me  and  the  sun,  and  giving  me  leisure  to  see  and  be  wise. 

Man  says  that  — — 's  glancing  eyes 

Wander  too  fond  and  free, 

But  in  gazing  thus  on  all  the  world 

They  have  a  look  for  me  ; 

As  if  the  something,  something  sun 

Was  destined  but  to  shine  on  one  1 


A  ladt's  glancb  at  the  author. 


Here,  dearest  mother,  you  have  the  beginning  of  a  rapturous 
ode  on  the  innumerable  beauties  and  perfections  of  a  certain 

Mademoiselle  de ;  but  a  gentleman  arrived  who  had  been  in 

the  Guards,  is  heir  to  ten  thousand  a  year,  has  several  waistcoats 
of  the  most  magnificent  pattern,  and  makes  love  speeches  to  ad- 
miration :  he  has  therefore  cut  me  out,  as  he  will  some  day  be  cut 
out  in  his  turn.  Flirting  is  a  word  much  in  vogue,  but  I  think 
jilting  is  the  proper  term  in  this  my  unfortunate  (or  fortunate, 
as  you  please)  desertion."     "The  flame  has  gone  out,"  he  says 


xxiv  VANITY  FAIR 

farther  on,  "  and  now  I  scarcely  know  what  has  become  of  the 
cinders !" 

The  well-known  letter  to  Lewes,  published  in  his  "Life  of 
Goethe,"  is  so  interesting  that  I  cannot  help  quoting  the  passage 
about  his  introduction  to  Goethe. 

"  In  1831,  though  he  had  retired  from  the  world,  Goethe  would 
nevertheless  very  kindly  receive  strangers.  His  daughter-in-law*s 
tea-table  was  always  spread  for  us.  We  passed  hours  after  hours 
there,  and  night  after  night,  with  the  pleasantest  talk  and  music. 
We  read  over  endless  novels  and  poems  in  French,  English,  and 
German.  My  delight  in  those  days  was  to  make  caricatures  for 
children.  I  was  touched  to  find  that  they  were  remembered,  and 
some  even  kept  until  the  present  time ;  and  very  proud  to  be 
told,  as  a  lad,  that  the  great  Goethe  had  looked  at  some  of  them. 

"  He  remained  in  his  private  apartments,  where  only  a  very  few 
privileged  persons  were  admitted  ;  but  he  liked  to  know  all  that 
was  happening,  and  interested  himself  about  all  strangers.  When- 
ever a  countenance  struck  his  fancy,  there  was  an  artist  settled  in 
Weimar  who  made  a  portrait  of  it.  Goethe  had  quite  a  gallery  of 
heads,  in  black  and  white,  taken  by  this  painter.*  His  house  was 
all  over  pictures,  drawings,  casts,  statues,  and  medals.  Of  course 
I  remember  very  well  the  perturbation  of  spirit  with  which,  as  a 
lad  of  nineteen,  I  received  the  long-expected  intimation  that  the 
Herr  Geheimrath  would  see  me  on  such  a  morning.  This  audi- 
ence took  place  in  a  little  antechamber  of  his  private  apartments, 
covered  all  round  with  antique  casts  and  bas-reliefs.     He  was 


*  Mendelssohn  was  in  Weimar  in  the  same  year  as  my  father.  He  too 
writes  of  Hummel  and  of  Goethe  in  his  letters  home. 

"  I  wrote  this  before  going  to  see  Goethe  early  in  the  forenoon  after  a  walk 
in  the  park,  but  I  could  not  find  a  moment  to  finish  my  letter  till  now.  I 
shall  probably  remain  here  for  a  couple  of  days,  which  is  no  sacrifice,  for  I 
never  saw  the  old  gentleman  so  cheerful  and  amiable  as  on  this  occasion,  or 
so  talkative  and  communicative.  My  special  reason,  however,  for  staying  two 
days  longer  is  a  very  agreeable  one,  and  makes  me  almost  vain,  or  I  ought 
rather  to  say  proud,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  keep  it  secret  from  you.  Goethe, 
you  must  know,  sent  me  a  letter  yesterday  addressed  to  an  artist  here,  a 
painter,  which  I  am  to  deliver  myself,  and  Ottilie  confided  to  me  that  it  con- 
tains a  commission  to  take  my  portrait,  as  Goethe  wishes  to  place  it  in  a 
collection  of  likenesses  he  has  recently  commenced  of  his  friends.  This  cir- 
cumstance gratified  me  exceedingly."    _^ 


4B    INTRODUCTION  xxv 

habited  in  a  long  grey  or  drab  redingot,  with  a  white  neckcloth, 
and  a  red  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole.  He  kept  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  just  as  in  Ranch's  sta^ette.  His  complexion  was  very 
bright,  clear,  and  rosy ;  his  eyes  extraordinarily  dark,  piercing, 
and  brilliant.  I  felt  quite  afraid  before  them,  and  recollect  com- 
paring them  to  the  eyes  of  the  hero  of  a  certain  romance  called 
'  Melnoth  the  Wanderer,'  which  used  to  alarm  us  boys  thirty 
years  ago ;  eyes  of  an  individual  who  had  made  a  bargain  with 
a  Certain  Person,  and  at  an  extreme  old  age  retained  these  eyes 
in  all  their  awful  splendour.  I  fancied  Goethe  must  have  been 
still  more  handsome  as  an  old  man  than  even  in  the  days  of  his 
youth.  His  voice  was  very  rich  and  sweet.  He  asked  me  ques- 
tions about  myself,  which  I  answered  as  best  I  could.  I  recol- 
lect I  was  at  first  astonished,  and  then  somewhat  relieved,  when 
I  found  he  spoke  French  with  not  a  good  accent.  .  .  . 

"  Vidi  tantum. — I  saw  him  but  three  times — once  walking  in 
the  garden  of  his  house  in  the  Frauenplan ;  once  going  to  step 
into  his  chariot  on  a  sunshiny  day,  wearing  a  cap  and  a  cloak 
with  a  red  collar.  He  was  caressing  at  the  time  a  beautiful  lit- 
tle golden-haired  granddaughter,  over  whose  sweet  fair  face  the 
earth  has  long  since  closed  too.  .  .  . 

"  With  a  five-and-twenty  years'  experience  since  those  happy 
days  of  which  I  write,  and  an  acquaintance  with  an  immense 
variety  of  human  kind,  I  think  I  have  never  seen  a  society  more 
simple,  charitable,  courteous,  gentleman  -  like,  than  that  of  the 
dear  little  Saxon  city,  where  the  good  Schiller  and  the  great 
Goethe  lived  and  lie  buried." 


11. 

Once,  writing  to  my  grandmother,  my  father  said,  "  It  is  the 
fashion  to  say  that  people  are  unfortunate  who  *  have  lost  their 
money.'     Dearest  mother,  we  know  better  than  that." 

For  years  and  years  he  had  to  face  the  great  question  of  daily 
bread :  life  was  no  playtime  either  to  him  or  to  many  of  his  con- 
temporaries, who  also  worked  for  others  as  well  as  for  themselves 
— Carlyle,  Tennyson,  Dickens,  John  Leech,  a  dozen  honoured 
names  come  to  one's  mind.  But  their  work  to  each  one  of  them  (as 


XXVI 


VANITY   FAIR 


to  all  true  workers)  was  a  happiness,  a  progress,  a  fulfilment,  rather 
than  a  task.  They  worked  on  for  the  work's  sake  as  much  as  for 
what  it  brought  to  them,  and  understood  what  was  best  worth  hav- 
ing ;  learning  the  things  that  people  often  don't  learn  who  have 
only  bought  their  places  in  the  world,  or  inherited  them  from 
others. 

I  have  written  elsewhere  of  our  early  home  in  Young  Street,  and 
of  our  life  there,  and  of  the  people  who  used  to  come  to  the  old 


THACKBRAY's   home   at   no.  13   YOUNG  STREET,  KENSINGTON, 

FROM  1846  TO  1853. 


house  at  the  corner  of  Kensington  Square,  in  which  my  father 
wrote  "  Vanity  Fair,"  and  "  Pendennis,"  and  "  Esmond,"  and 
where  he  lived  for  seven  years.  They  were  fruitful  years,  bringing 
their  sheaves  and  gathering  in  their  full  harvests.  It  was  in  Au- 
gust 1846  that  my  father,  after  some  hesitation,  settled  down  in 
Kensington.  He  writes  to  his  mother,  "  I  am  beginning  to  count 
the  days  now  till  you  come  ;  and  I  have  got  the  rooms  all  ready  in 
the  rough,  all  but  a  couple  of  bedsteads  and  a  few  etceteras,  which 
fall  into  their  place  in  a  day  or  two.  ...  As  usual  I  am  full  of 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

business  and  racket,  working  every  day,  and  yet  not  advancing 
somehow;  and  poor  too,  although  everybody  gives  me  credit  for 
making  a  fortune.  I  like  Kensington  Gardens  very  much  indeed, 
walk  in  and  out  too  sometimes,  ^nd  I  have  health,  and  much  more 
work  and  leisure  too.  .  .  .  Aunt  Halliday  has  sent  me  a  farewell 
letter  and  a  store  of  mango  pickles  and  chutney.  All  the  Lon- 
don gaieties  are  over.  I  dined  three  days  running  at  my  own 
expense,  and  enjoyed  that  relaxation  amazingly.  Shan't  you 
bring  a  servant  with  the  children  ?" 

It  was  not  till  late  in  the  autumn  that  we  came  to  live  with  my 
father  at  Kensington.  We  had  been  at  Paris  with  our  grand- 
parents, while  he  was  at  work  in  London.  It  was  a  dark  wintry 
evening.  The  fires  were  lighted,  the  servants  were  engaged,  Eliza 
— what  family  would  be  complete  without  its  Eliza? — was  in 
waiting  to  show  us  our  rooms.  He  was  away  ;  he  had  not  expected 
us  so  early.  We  saw  the  drawing-room,  the  empty  study  ;  there 
was  the  feeling  of  London — London  smelt  of  tobacco,  we  thought; 
we  stared  out  through  the  uncurtained  windows  at  the  dark  gar- 
den behind ;  and  then  climbing  the  stairs,  we  looked  in  at  his 
bedroom  door,  and  came  to  our  own  rooms  above  it.  There  were 
pictures  ready  hung  on  the  walls  of  the  schoolroom,  and  of  the 
adjoining  fire-lit  nursery — the  Thorwaldsen  prints.  Hunt's  de- 
lightful sleepy  boy  yawning  at  us  over  the  chimney-piece,  all  of 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  put  up ;  and  the  picture  of  himself 
as  a  child  he  had  hung  up  with  his  own  hands,  Eliza  told  us. 

Once  more,  after  his  first  happy  married  years,  my  father  had 
a  home  and  a  family — if  a  house,  two  young  children,  three 
servants,  and  a  little  black  cat  can  be  called  a  family. 

My  grandmother,  who  had  brought  us  over  to  England,  returned 
to  her  husband  in  Paris ;  but  her  mother,  an  old  lady  wrapped  in 
Indian  shawls,  presently  came  to  live  with  us,  and  divided  her  time 
between  Kensington  and  the  Champs  Elysees  until  1 848,  when  she 
died  at  Paris.  We  did  not  see  very  much  of  our  great-grandmoth- 
er ;  she  rarely  spoke,  and  was  almost  always  in  her  room ;  but 
though  my  father  was  very  busy,  and  often  away  from  home,  we 
seemed  to  live  with  him,  and  were  indeed  with  him  constantly — 
in  the  early  mornings,  and  when  he  was  drawing,  and  on  Sundays 
especially,  and  on  holidays  when  the  work  was  finished.  We  often 
went  for  little  expeditions  together,  which  he  liked.    He  was  well 


xxviii  VANITY   FAIR 

and  strong,  and  able  both  to  work  and  to  enjoy  life  to  the  full ; 
though  even  then  he  was  not  without  anxiety  for  the  future. 
Success  was  slow ;  his  great  book  hung  fire.  One  has  heard  of 
the  journeys  which  the  manuscript  made  to  various  publishers* 
houses  before  it  could  find  one  ready  to  undertake  the  venture, 
and  how  long  its  appearance  was  delayed  by  various  doubts  and 
hesitations.  The  book  was  at  last  brought  out  in  its  yellow 
covers  by  Messrs.  Bradbury  &  Evans  on  the  1st  of  January  1847. 
My  great-grandmother  did  not  speak  much,  as  I  have  said,  but 
I  think  she  put  on  her  spectacles  and  read  "Vanity  Fair"  in  the 
intervals  of  her  books  of  devotion. 

I  still  remember  going  along  Kensington  Gardens  with  my  sister 
and  our  nurse-maid  carrying  a  parcel  of  yellow  numbers,  which  she 
had  given  us  to  take  to  some  friend  who  lived  across  the  Park ;  and 
as  we  walked  along,  somewhere  near  the  gates  of  the  gardens  we 
met  my  father,  who  asked  us  what  we  were  carrying.  Then  some- 
how he  seemed  vexed  and  troubled,  told  us  not  to  go  on,  and  to 
take  the  parcel  home.  Then  he  changed  his  mind,  saying  that  if 
his  grandmother  wished  it,  the  books  had  best  be  conveyed ;  but 
we  guessed,  as  children  do,  that  something  was  seriously  amiss. 
Something  was  seriously  amiss.  The  sale  of  "Vanity  Fair  "  was  so 
small  that  it  was  a  question  at  that  time  whether  its  publication 
should  not  be  discontinued  altogether.  1  have  always  been  told 
that  it  was  "  Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball "  which  played  the  part  of  pilot 
or  steam-tug  to  that  great  line-of-battle  ship  "  Vanity  Fair,"  and 
which  brought  it  safely  off  the  shoals.  In  later  days  I  have  heard 
my  father  speak  of  those  times,  and  say  that  besides  "  Mrs.  Per- 
kins's Ball,"  a  review  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  by  Mr.  A.  Hay  ward 
greatly  helped  the  sale  of  "  Vanity  Fair."  We  have  still  one  or 
two  of  the  early  designs  for  the  "  Vanity  Fair  "  drawings — Jos 
holding  Becky's  skein ;  old  Sedley  in  his  coffee-house,  with  his 
head  in  his  hands,  waiting  for  prosperity  to  come  back  to  him ; 
and  among  the  rest  Becky  at  the  Fancy  Fair  selling  to  Dobbin 
with  two  or  three  hats  fitted  on  to  his  head  and  shoulders.  There 
is  also  a  little  sepia  suggestion  for  the  picture  of  Becky's  first 
introduction  to  a  baronet,  and  a  first  rough  suggestion  for  the 
cover,  two  little  pencil  warriors  with  a  flying  pennant,  on 
which  are  inscribed  the  titles  of  the  book.  But  the  picture 
for  the  cover  which  was  eventually  determined  upon  was  far 


INTRODUCTION 


VANITY  m\ 


SroRT   1' 


4/<! 

DESIGNS  FOR   THE   COYER   OF    "  TANITT   FAIR." 


XXX  VANITY  FAIR 

more  characteristic,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  designs  here 
given. 

The  pictures  of  Dobbin  in  his  later  life  have  certainly  a  great 
resemblance  to  one  of  my  father's  oldest  friends  and  companions 
at  college.  This  was  Archdeacon  Allen,  a  commander  in  an  army 
where  there  are  no  Waterloos,  no  decisive  victories  and  treaties  of 
peace,  but  where  for  men  such  as  he  was,  the  arms  are  never 
laid  away,  and  the  watches  are  never  relaxed.  "  Any  one  who 
knew  the  Archdeacon,"  his  son-in-law  writes,  "  and  has  studied 
*  Vanity  Fair,*  will  recognise  his  portrait,  mutatis  mutandis^  in 
the  simple-minded,  chivalrous  Major  Dobbin." 

I  may  as  well  also  state  here,  that  one  morning  a  hansom 
drove  up  to  the  door,  and  out  of  it  emerged  a  most  charming, 
dazzling  little  lady  dressed  in  black,  who  greeted  my  father  with 
great  affection  and  brilliancy,  and  who,  departing  presently,  gave 
him  a  large  bunch  of  fresh  violets.  This  was  the  only  time  I 
ever  saw  the  fascinating  little  person  who  was  by  many  sup- 
posed to  be  the  original  of  Becky  ;  my  father  only  laughed  when 
people  asked  him,  but  he  never  quite  owned  to  it.  He  always 
said  that  he  never  consciously  copied  anybody.  It  was,  of  course, 
impossible  that  suggestions  should  not  come  to  him. 

Concerning  the  originals  of  the  characters  in  "  Vanity  Fair," 
here  is  a  quotation  from  "  Yeast,"  the  accuracy  of  which  I  can 
vouch  for  from  remembrance. 

Charles  Kingsley  writes :  "  I  heard  a  story  the  other  day  of 
our  most  earnest  and  genial  humourist,  who  is  just  now  proving 
himself  also  our  most  earnest  and  genial  novelist.  *  I  like  your 
novel  exceedingly,'  said  a  lady ;  *  the  characters  are  so  natural, 
all  but  the  baronet,  and  he  surely  is  overdrawn :  it  is  impossible 
to  find  such  coarseness  in  his  rank  of  life !' 

"  The  artist  laughed.  *  That  character,'  said  he,  *  is  almost  the 
only  exact  portrait  in  the  whole  book.' " — "  Yeast,"  chap.  ii. 

It  must  have  been  in  the  summer  of  1847  that  my  father  wrote 
to  his  mother  saying  everything  had  mended,  and  "  the  book 
does  everything  but  pay."  I  can  remember  hearing  him  speak 
of  that  very  time  long  after,  and  saying,  "  *  Vanity  Fair '  is  un- 
doubtedly the  best  of  my  books.  It  has  the  best  story,  and  for 
another  thing,"  he  added,  "  the  title  is  such  a  good  one,  you 
couldn't  have  a  better." 


INTRODUCTION 


JtXXl 


Wood-blocks  played  a  very  important  part  in  our  lives  in  those 
days,  and  the  house  was  full  of  them,  and  of  drawings  and  note- 
books and  scrap-books.  Friend^  were  constantly  turned  into 
models  for  wood-blocks  and  etchings.  Once  a  month  an  engraver 
used  to  come  to  "  bite-in  "  the  plates  in  the  dining-room.  One 
young  friend  of  ours,  called  Eugenie,  used  very  often  to  sit  to  my 
father.     She  used  to  be  Amelia  and  the  Miss  Osbornes,  in  turn, 


lililiPiH^^^"'"''"^^^^ 


AMELIA   WAITING   IN   RUSSELL   SQUARE. 


while  my  sister  and  I  figured  proudly  as  models  for  the  children 
fighting  on  the  floor.  I  also  remember  making  one  of  a  group 
composed  of  the  aforesaid  Eugenie,  representing  Amelia  after  the 
battle  of  Waterloo,  with  a  sofa  cushion  for  an  infant ;  a  tall  chair 
stood  in  the  place  of  Dobbin,  who  brings  the  little  horse  for  his 
godson  to  play  with.  The  drawing  of  Amelia  waiting  in  Russell 
Square  to  see  little  George  go  by  must  also  have  been  drawn 
from  this  same  friendly  model.     And  besides  all  these  familiar 


xxxu 


VANITY  FAIR 


people,  the  sketches  for  <'Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball"  were  being  etched 
and  made  ready. 

"  There  are  no  end  of  quarrels  in  this  wicked  '  Vanity  Fair,' 
and  my  feet  are  perpetually  in  hot  water,"  so  my  father  wrote  to 
his  mother  about  this  time. 

I  have  an  old  diary  for  1847,  but  none  of  the  anxieties  or 


STUDIES   FOR   THE   MISS   OSBORNES. 


quarrels  are  written  down  in  it — only  the  places  to  which  the  au- 
thor of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  was  bound,  and  the  names  of  some  of  the 
people  with  whom  he  was  living  at  the  time.  "  Home  "  recurs  very 
frequently,  and  various  dinners  at  six  o'clock,  at  half -past  six,  and 
a  quarter  to  seven — with  names  still  more  or  less  well  known. 
"  January  4th,  drew  for  Punch  ;  Tuesday  6th,  Duff  Gordon ; 
Wednesday  6th,  drew,  wrote  *  Vanity  Fair ' ;  Thursday  7th,  Sir 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

F.  Pollock.  Drew  in  the  morning,  and  wrote  at  night  for  Punchy 
Fladgate — Murphy — Mrs.  Dilke,  76  Sloane  Street — F.  W.  New- 
man, quarter  -  past  six — Keny^on — Reeve — Buller — Talf ourd — 
Higgins —  Macready — Procter — Molesworth — Merivale — Lord 
Holland — all  follow  in  turn,  still  at  their  comfortable  6's  and 
V's,  and  early  dinner  hours. 

*'My  dearest  Mother, — What  has  happened  since  I  wrote  a  year 
ago  ?  The  same  story  of  every  day  —  work,  work,  gobble,  gobble, 
scuffling  through  the  day  with  business,  a  sort  of  pleasure  which  be- 
comes a  business  till  bedtime,  and  no  prospect  of  more  than  tempo- 
rary quiet.  I  have  just  got  my  month's  work  done,  and  with  Tues- 
day the  next  month  begins,  and  the  next  work,  etcetera.  Was  ever 
such  martyrdom  ?  On  the  best  of  victuals,  to  be  sure.  But  I  sup- 
pose there  is  no  use  in  a  man  thinking  about  what  he  does  in  this 
world.  What  he  is  capable  of  doing  and  knowing  is  the  thing,  and 
when  we  go  hence  into  somewhere,  where  there  will  be  time  and 
quiet  sufficient  doubtless,  who  knows  what  a  deal  of  good  may  be 
found  in  us  yet?  What  a  thing  it  will  be  to  be  made  good  and  wise. 
You  see  I  am  always  thinking  about  'Vanity  Fair.'  Everything  is 
very  flat  and  dull. 

"  Well,  yesterday  was  my  dear  little  M 's  birthday,  and  we  had 

a  day  of  heat  and  idleness  at  Hampton  Court ;  finished  with  a  cold 
collation  at  Mrs.  Barber's  at  Twickenham,  where  all  the  ladies  assem- 
bled were  excellently  kind  to  the  children.  The  pictures  did  not 
charm  them  over  much  ;  but  General  M'Leod's  palace  of  Moorsheda- 
bad,  with  a  little  Nawab  palanquin,  elephants,  bearers,  two  inches 
high,  delighted  them  hugely,  and  so  did  the  labyrinth  and  the  chest- 
nut-trees in  full  bloom,  and  the  gardens  all  over  green  and  sunshine. 
We  all  went  to  bed  very  tired  and  sober  at  ten  o'clock,  Mrs.  Parker 
coming  to  console  G.  M.  in  our  absence.  She  is  weakly,  and  of  course 
moving  surely  downwards,  but  in  pretty  good  spirits,  and  pleased 
with  her  little  household  occupations,  fidgeting  the  servants  quite 
unrestrained,  and  ringing  the  bell  with  unbounded  liberty.  .  .  . 
The  night  before,  seeing  '  King  Lear '  was  to  be  performed,  I  took 

A and  Mrs.  Brookfield  and  Eugenie.     We  all  found  the  play  a 

bore.  We  are  the  most  superstitious  people  in  England.  It  is 
almost  blasphemy  to  say  a  play  of  Shakespeare  is  bad,  but  I  can't 
help  it  if  I  think  so,  and  there  are  other  pieces  of  bookolatry  too 
which  make  me  rebel."  The  letter  finishes  with  some  domestic 
details,  "  and  so  having  said  nothing,"  he  says,  "  I  come  to  goodbye, 

and  God  bless  my  dearest  M and  G.  P.     I  am  as  well  as  any 

mortal  man  almost.  I  have  dined  at  home  all  the  week,  and  am 
now  going  to  dress  in  my  best  for  a  genteel  party  at  Mr.  Charles 
Buller's." 


xxxiv  Vanity  fair 

In  July  lie  says  of  a  visit  to  Harrow,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  got 
Mrs.  Huish  to  comfort  your  old  heart.  I  saw  Wentworth's  tomb- 
stone over  the  boys'  gallery  at  Harrow  the  other  day,  and  took  a 
walk  with  him  on  Tallaton  Common  while  the  parson  preached  the 
sermon.  It  is  a  long  time  back;  a  great  gap  of  life  lies  between, 
but  it  has  been  followed  all  through  by  the  love  of  my  dearest 
old  mother. 

"As  soon  as  the  three  Punch  men  who  are  gone  to  Paris  for 
their  holiday  return,  I  will  try  to  run  over  to  Boulogne  and  take 
a  house.  Towards  the  end  of  the  month  I  get  so  nervous,  that  I 
don't  speak  to  anybody  scarcely,  and  once  actually  got  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  and  came  down  and  wrote  in  my  night 
chimee ;  but  that  don't  happen  often,  and  I  own  that  I  had  a 
nap  after  dinner  that  day.  The  publishers  are  quite  contented ; 
and  now  I  must  get  to  work."  In  October  he  speaks  of  a  visit 
to  Brighton,  where  he  found  kind  friends,  fresh  air,  a  little  reno- 
vation of  health  and  spirits.  "  The  last  numbers  of  *  Vanity 
Fair,'  you  will  like  best,  I  think ;"  and  again  he  repeats,  "  It  does 
everything  but  sell,  and  appears  really  immensely  to  increase  my 
reputation,  if  not  my  income." 

There  is  also  a  letter  to  Mr.  Fitzgerald  about  this  time,  but  it 
is  not  dated : — 

**  My  dear  old  Yedward, — It  is  not  true  what  Gurlyle  has  written 
to  you  about  my  having  become  a  tremenjous  lion,  etc.  too  grand  to 
etc.  ;  but  what  is  true  is  that  a  fellow  who  is  writing  all  day  for 
money  gets  sick  of  pens  and  paper  when  his  work  is  over,  and  I  go 
on  dawdling  and  thinking  of  writing  and  months  pass  away.  All  that 
about  being  a  Lion  is  nonsense.  I  can't  eat  more  dinners  than  I  used 
last  year,  and  dine  at  home  with  my  dear  little  women  three  times  a 
week :  but  two  or  three  great  people  ask  me  to  their  houses :  and 
'  Vanity  Fair '  does  everything  but  pay.  I  am  glad  if  you  like  it.  I 
don't  care  a  dem  if  some  other  people  do  or  don't:  and  always  try  to 
keep  that  damper  against  flattery.  What  does  it  matter  whether  this 
man  who  is  an  ass  likes  your  book  or  not  ? 

"  This  was  wrote,  I  don't  know  how  long  ago  ;  but  my  mind  has 
been  unequal  to  the  gigantic  effort  of  filling  a  whole  half  sheet,  and  I 
think  another  number  of  'Vanity  Fair'  has  been  written  since  I 
'penned  the  above  lines,*  as  the  novelists  say. 

"I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  old  Frau  Mutter  riding  alone  in  the 
Park  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  looking  very  melancholy.  I've  not  had 
the  courage  to  call,  but  I  have  seen  both  Ainsworth  and  Albert  Smith. 


INDRODUCTION  xxxv 

As  for  Ains worth,  he  is  more  hairy  than  ever.  He  begins  to  sprout 
at  his  under-lip  now,  and  curls  all  over. 

"A  letter  from  the  young  Madrileno  of  the  Calle  de  las  Caritas  ar- 
rived yesterday.    He  says  not  a  wcjrd  from  Fitz.    G is  immensely 

grand  and  savage  now  he  has  a  Cromwellian  letter  against  the  Irish  in 
this  week's  Examiner.  Last  Sunday  I  saw  Jeames  Spending  walking 
in  the  Park  with  some  children  and  a  lady  from  the  country,  I  am 
one  of  the  swells  there.  I  have  got  a  cob,  which  is  the  admiration  of 
all— strong,  handsome,  good-natured,  fast,  and  never  tired.  You  shall 
have  a  ride  behind  me  if  you  come  to  London.  Why  don't  you  ? 
I  am  going  to  give  a  party  on  the  9th  of  May.  Mrs.  Dickens  and 
Miss  Hogarth  made  me  give  it,  and  I  am  in  a  great  fright.  I  have 
not  got  a  shilling — isn't  it  wonderful  ?  I  make  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  it  goes  pouring  and  pouring  out  in  a  frightful  volubility.  .  .  .  This 
letter  has  been  delayed  and  delayed,  until  I  fancied  it  would  never 
go ;  nevertheless  I  am  always  yours,  and  like  you  almost  as  much  as 
I  did  twenty  years  ago." 

In  the  summer  of  1848  he  writes  to  his  mother:  "  We  three 
have  had  a  long  walk  in  the  Park  and  by  the  Serpentine  after 
dinner  to-day ;  a  beautiful  day  and  sight.  Yesterday  I  had  a 
letter  from  a  lady,  who  has  just  lost  a  little  child,  and  who  ends 
her  letter,  '  If  anything  can  console  his  father,  it  will  be  this 
heavenly  weather !'  And  yet  the  woman  feels  acutely  the  loss 
of  the  child. 

*'  Last  Sunday  we  were  at  Eton  and  Windsor ;  it  was  almost 
too  much  pleasure,  though,  for  one  day — the  weather  furiously 
bright,  the  landscape  beautiful.  We  dined  at  an  Eton  boarding- 
house  for  boys.  They  had  excellent  fish,  meat  pudding,  and 
beer,  and  a  glass  of  wine.  The  hall  in  which  we  dined  was  Gothic, 
and  hung  round  with  banners,  helmets,  and  quaint  devices.  The 
little  fellows  have  the  snuggest  little  studies,  and  a  most  gentle- 
man-like look.  I  shall  go  down  again  and  get  it  up  for  a  novel 
probably.  We  were  locked  into  St.  George's  Chapel  at  Wind- 
sor, which  caused  me  to  be  too  late  for  a  dinner  to  which  I  was 
engaged. 

"  I  went  to  see  poor  dear  old  Mrs.  Buller  at  Richmond  the 
other  day.  She  is  grown  quite  into  the  state  of  old  womanhood. 
Dear  old  haggard  eyes,  how  beautiful  they  were  even  in  my  time, 
and  how  kind  and  affectionate  she  has  always  been  to  me.  .  . . 
Buller  was  dying  downstairs,  the  lamp  of  life  just  flickering  out. 
He  has  been  a  good,  honest,  and  kindly  man,  and  Mrs.  Buller  told 

B 


xxxvi  VANITY   FAIR 

me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  what  a  comfort  her  sons  had  been  to 
her.     Charles,  with  his  indifferent  manner,  never  forgets  his 

duty.  .  .  .  When came  home  wanting  money,  Charles  gave 

him  all  his  savings.  He  never  brags  about  his  goodness,  but 
goes  laughing  through  the  world,  honest,  and  to  be  depended 
on.  Next  day  at  the  Literary  Fund  I  made,  as  I  am  told,  an 
excellent  funny  speech.  It  is  curious ;  I  was  in  such  a  panic,  I 
did  not  know  what  I  said,  and  don't  know  now. 

"  And  this  I  think  is  my  chronicle  of  '  Vanity  Fair.'  I  finish 
(D.V.)  next  month.  How  glad  I  shall  be,  for  I  dislike  every- 
body in  the  book  except  Dob.  and  poor  Amelia." 

My  father  has  left  his  own  criticisms  of  "  Vanity  Fair."  "  Of 
course,"  he  says  to  his  mother,  "you  are  quite  right  about 
*  Vanity  Fair '  and  Amelia  being  selfish.  It  is  mentioned  in  this 
very  number.  My  object  is  not  to  make  a  perfect  character,  or 
anything  like  it.  Don't  you  see  how  odious  all  the  people  are 
in  the  book  (with  the  exception  of  Dobbin),  behind  all  of  which 
there  is  a  dark  moral,  I  hope. 

"  What  I  want  is  to  make  a  set  of  people  living  without  God 
in  the  world  (only  that  is  a  cant  phrase),  greedy,  pompous  men, 
perfectly  self-satisfied  for  the  most  part,  and  at  ease  about  their 
superior  virtue.  Dobbin  and  poor  Briggs  are  the  only  two  people 
with  real  humility  as  yet.  Amelia's  is  to  come  when  her  scoundrel 
of  a  husband  is  well  dead  with  a  ball  in  his  odious  bowels,  when 
she  has  had  sufferings,  a  child  and  a  religion.  But  she  has  at 
present  a  quality  above  most  people,  whizz — LOVE — by  which 
she  shall  be  saved.  ...  I  wasn't  going  to  write  in  this  way 
when  I  began.  But  these  thoughts  pursue  me  plentifully.  Will 
they  ever  come  to  a  good  end  ?  I  should  doubt  God  who  gave 
them  if  I  doubted  them." 

By  this  time  all  fears  for  the  book  were  over;  anxiety  had 
ceased,  and  day  by  day  the  popularity  of  "  Vanity  Fair "  in- 
creased, and  success  was  finally  assured. 

Once  more  he  writes  on  the  2nd  July  1848  :  "  '  Vanity  Fair' 
is  this  instant  done,  and  1  have  worked  so  hard,  that  I  can  hardly 
hold  a  pen  and  say  God  bless  my  dearest  old  mother.  I  had  not 
time  even  to  listen  to  the  awful  cannonading  in  your  town. 
Thank  God  !  you  are  going  to  leave  it.  ...  I  am  very  pleased  to 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

have  done,  very  melancholy  and  beat ;"  and  then  he  goes  on  to 
speak  of  his  hope  that  he  may  not  feel  too  much  elation  from 
the  praise  he  gets ;  and  so  once  more  sends  his  blessing  to  his 
mother.  ^ 

Even  now  after  a  lifetime,  when  three  generations  of  readers 
have  succeeded  those  who  first  read  and  praised  "  Vanity  Fair," 
that  moment  seems  almost  present  again  as  one  looks  at  the  old 
letter  on  its  half  sheet  of  paper,  and  realises  what  it  must  have 
been  to  the  mother  who  read  the  letter,  and  to  my  father  who 
wrote  it.  Now  and  again,  in  all  the  troubles  and  changes  of  life, 
I  think  he  must  have  realised,  as  only  a  few  can  do,  the  conscious- 
ness of  repose,  of  well-earned  rest  after  effort,  the  immense  hap- 
piness of  good  work  achieved,  the  satisfaction  of  sympathy,  and 
recognition  coming  after  the  years  in  which  he  had  laboured, 
alone  and  in  silence  as  it  were,  and  without  any  great  success. 
And  though  it  was  with  the  same  cheerful  humour  that  he  wrote 
on,  whether  with  success  o"  without  it,  looking  the  world  hon- 
estly and  trustfully  in  the  face,  yet  when  people  came  at  last 
with  cordial  words  of  appreciation  and  praise,  it  made  him  glad ; 
and  when  material  difficulties  were  smoothed  away  for  him  and 
his,  he  enjoyed  it  to  the  full. 

"  Vanity  Fair  "  was  dedicated  to  Mr.  Procter,  who  had  been  so 
good  to  my  father  when  he  was  in  great  trouble.  There  is  a 
passage  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Brookfield  saying,  "  Old  Dilke  of  the 
AthencBum  vows  that  Procter  and  his  wife  between  them  wrote 

*  Jane  Eyre,'  and  when  I  protest  ignorance,  says.  Pooh !  you 
know  very  well  who  wrote  it."  .  .  .  The  second  edition  of 
"  Jane  Eyre "  came  out  with  a  dedication  to  my  father.  "  I 
wonder    whether    it    can    be    true    (that    the    Procters    wrote 

*  Jane  Eyre '),"  says  my  father.  "  It  is  just  possible,  and  then, 
what  a  singular  circumstance  the  crossfire  of  the  two  dedica- 
tions." 

My  brother-in-law  has  some  of  the  early  MS.  of  "Vanity 
Fair."  It  is  curious  to  compare  it  with  that  of  "  Esmond,"  for 
instance,  which  flows  on  straight  and  with  scarcely  an  altera- 
tion. The  early  chapters  of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  are,  on  the  contrary, 
altered  and  rewritten  with  many  erasures  and  with  sentences 
turned  in  many  different  ways. 


xxxviii  VANITY   FAIR 

The  following  letter  tells  its  own  story.  It  was  written  to 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire  of  those  days.  It  shows  that  although 
"  Vanity  Fair  "  was  not  quite  finished  at  the  time,  the  end  was 
well  in  view. 

"Kensington,  Ut  May  1848. 

**Mt  Lord  Duke, — Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  whom  I  saw  last 
week,  and  whom  I  informed  of  your  Grace's  desire  to  have  her  por- 
trait, was  good  enough  to  permit  me  to  copy  a  little  drawing  made 
of  her  'in  happier  days,'  she  said  with  a  sigh,  by  Smee,  the  Royal 
Academician. 

"  Mrs.  Crawley  now  lives  in  a  small  but  very  pretty  little  house  in 
Belgravia  ;  and  is  conspicuous  for  her  numerous  charities — which  al- 
ways get  into  the  newspapers— and  her  unaffected  piety.  Many  of  the 
most  exalted  and  spotless  of  her  own  sex  visit  her,  and  are  of  opinion 
that  she  is  a  most  injured  woman.  There  is  no  sort  of  truth  in  the 
stories  regarding  Mrs.  Crawley  and  the  late  Lord  Steyne.  The  licen- 
tious character  of  that  nobleman  alone  gave  rise  to  reports  from 
which,  alas !  the  most  spotless  life  and  reputation  cannot  always  de- 
fend themselves.  The  present  Sir  Rawdon  Crawley  (who  succeeded 
his  late  uncle  Sir  Pitt,  1832— Sir  Pitt  died  on  the  passing  of  the  Re- 
form Bill)  does  not  see  his  mother ;  and  his  undutifulness  is  a  cause 
of  the  deepest  grief  to  that  admirable  lady.  '  If  it  were  not  for  MgTier 
things,'  she  says,  'how  could  she  have  borne  up  against  the  world's 
calumny,  a  wicked  husband's  cruelty  and  falseness,  and  the  thankless- 
ness  (sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth)  of  an  adored  child  ?  But  she 
has  been  preserved,  mercifully  preserved,  to  bear  all  these  griefs, 
and  awaits  her  reward  elsewhere.*  The  italics  are  Mrs.  Crawley's 
own. 

"She  took  the  style  and  title  of  Lady  Crawley  for  some  time  after 
Sir  Pitt's  death  in  1832,  but  it  turned  out  that  Colonel  Crawley,  Gov- 
ernor of  Coventry  Island,  had  died  of  fever  three  months  before  his 
brother,  whereupon  Mrs.  Rawdon  was  obliged  to  lay  down  the  title 
which  she  had  prematurely  assumed. 

"The  late  Jos.  Sedley,  Esq.,  of  the  Bengal  Civil  Service,  left  her 
two  lakhs  of  rupees,  on  the  interest  of  which  the  widow  lives  in  the 
practices  of  piety  and  benevolence  before  mentioned.  She  has  lost 
what  little  good  looks  she  once  possessed,  and  wears  false  hair  and 
teeth  (the  latter  give  her  rather  a  ghastly  look  when  she  smiles),  and 
— for  a  pious  woman— is  the  best  crinolined  lady  in  Knightsbridge 
district. 

"Colonel  and  Mrs.  W.  Dobbin  live  in  Hampshire,  near  Sir  R. 
Crawley :  Lady  Jane  was  godmother  to  their  little  girl ;  and  the 
ladies  are  exceedingly  attached  to  each  other.  The  Colonel's  'His- 
tory of  the  Punjaub '  is  looked  for  with  much  anxiety  in  some  circles. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxix 

"  Captain  and  Lt. -Colonel  G.  Sedley- Osborne  (he  wishes,  he  says, 
to  be  distinguished  from  some  other  branches  of  the  Osborne  family, 
and  is  descended  by  the  mother's  side  from  Sir  Charles  Sedley)  is,  I 
need  not  say,  well,  for  I  saw  him  iir  a  most  richly  embroidered  cambric 
pink  shirt  with  diamond  studs  bowing  to  your  Grace  at  the  last  party 
at  Devonshire  House.  He  is  in  Parliament ;  but  the  property  left  him 
by  his  grandfather  has,  I  hear,  been  a  good  deal  overrated. 

'•  He  was  very  sweet  upon  Miss  Crawley,  Sir  Pitt's  daughter,  whc 
married  her  cousin  the  present  Baronet,  and  a  good  deal  cut  up  when 
he  was  refused.  He  is  not,  however,  a  man  to  be  permanently  cast 
down  by  sentimental  disappointments.  Hiaehief  cause  of  annoyance 
at  the  present  moment  is  that  he  is  growing  bald  ;  but  his  whiskers 
are  still  without  a  grey  hair,  and  the  finest  in  London. 

"I  think  these  are  the  latest  particulars  relating  to  a  number  of 
persons  about  whom  your  Grace  was  good  enough  to  express  some 
interest.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  enabled  to  give  this  information,  and 
am, 

**  Your  Grace's  very  much  obliged  servant, 

(Signed)  **W.  M.  Thackeray. 

"P.iS.— Lady  O'Dowd  is  at  O'Dovyd's  town  arming.  She  has  just 
sent  in  a  letter  of  adhesion  to  the  Lord-Lieutenant,  which  has  been 
acknowledged  by  his  Excellency's  private  secretary,  Mr.  Corry  Con- 
nellan.  Miss  Glorvina  O'Dowd  is  thinking  of  coming  up  to  the  Castle 
to  marry  the  last-named  gentleman. 

*'  P.S.  2.— The  India  Mail  just  arrived  announces  the  utter  ruin  of 
the  Union  Bank  of  Calcutta,  in  which  all  Mrs,  Crawley's  money  wa? 
Will  Fate  never  cease  to  persecute  that  suffering  Saint  ?" 

A.  LP 


'I'HE:        mbSME 


Rl^ 


0^ 


y 


TO 

B,   W.    PROCTER 

THIS   STORY 
tS    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 


BEFORE    THE    CURTAIN 


AS  the  Manager  of  the  Performance  sits  before  the  curtain  on  the 
/A  boards,  and  looks  into  the  Fair,  a  feeling  of  profound  melan- 
choly comes  over  him  in  his  survey  of  the  bustling  place. 
There  is  a  great  quantity  of  eating  and  drinking,  making  love  and 
jilting,  laughing  and  the  contrary,  smoking,  cheating,  fighting, 
dancing  and  fiddling :  there  are  bullies  pushing  about,  bucks  ogling 
the  women,  knaves  picking  pockets,  policemen  on  the  look-out, 
quacks  {other  quacks,  plague  take  them  !)  bawling  in  firont  of  their 
booths,  and  yokels  looking  up  at  the  tinselled  dancers  and  poor  old 
rouged  tumblers,  while  the  light-fingered  folk  are  operating  upon 
their  pockets  behind.  Yes,  this  is  Vanity  Fair  :  not  a  moral 
place  certainly ;  nor  a  merry  one,  though  very  noisy.  Look  at  the 
faces  of  the  actors  and  buJBfoons  when  they  come  off"  fi-om  their 
business ;  and  Tom  Fool  washing  the  paint  off  his  cheeks  before  he 
sits  down  to  dinner  with  his  wife  and  the  little  Jack  Puddings 
behind  the  canvas.  The  curtain  will  be  up  presently,  and  he  will 
be  turning  over  head  and  heels,  and  crying,  "  How  are  you  ? " 

A  man  with  a  reflective  turn  of  mind,  walking  through  an 
exhibition  of  this  sort,  will  not  be  oppressed,  I  take  it,  by  his  own 
or  other  people's  hilarity.  An  episode  of  humour  or  kindness 
touches  and  amuses  him  here  and  there ; — a  pretty  child  looking  at 
a  gingerbread  stall ;  a  pretty  girl  blushing  whilst  her  lover  talks  to 
her  and  chooses  her  fairing;  poor  Tom  Fool,  yonder  behind  the 
waggon,  mumbling  his  bone  with  the  honest  family  which  lives  by 
his  tumbling;  but  the  general  impression  is  one  more  melancholy 
than  mirthful.  When  you  come  home  you  sit  down,  in  a  sober, 
contemplative,  not  uncharitable  frame  of  mind,  and  apply  youraelf 
to  your  books  or  your  business. 

I  have  no  other  moral  than  this  to  tag  to  the  present  story  of 


xliv  BEFORE    THE    CURTAIN 

"Vanity  Fair."  Some  people  consider  Fairs  immoral  altogether, 
and  eschew  such,  with  their  servants  and  families  :  very  likely  they 
are  right.  But  persons  who  think  otherwise,  and  are  of  a  lazy,  or 
a  benevolent,  or  a  sarcastic  mood,  may  perhaps  like  to  step  in  for 
half-an-hour,  and  look  at  the  performances.  There  are  scenes  of  all 
sorts :  some  dreadful  combats,  some  grand  and  lofty  horse-riding, 
some  scenes  of  high  life,  and  some  of  very  middling  indeed ;  some 
love-making  for  the  sentimental,  and  some  light  comic  business ;  the 
whole  accompanied  by  appropriate  scenery  and  brilliantly  illuminated 
with  the  Author's  own  candles. 

What  more  has  the  Manager  of  the  Performance  to  say? — To 

acknowledge  the  kindness  with  which  it  has  been  received  in  all  the 

principal  towns  of  England  through  which  the  Show  has  passed, 

and  where  it  has  been  most  favourably  noticed  by  the  respected 

conductors  of  the  public  Press,  and  by  the  Nobility  and  Gentry. 

f^  He  is  proud  to  think  that  his  Puppets  have  given  satisfaction  to 

i    the  very  best  company  in  this  empire.     The  famous  little  Becky 

Puppet  has  been  pronounced  to  be  uncommonly  flexible  in  the 

;    joints,  and  Uvely  on  the  wire :  the  Amelia  Doll,  though  it  has  had 

a  smaller  circle  of  admirers,  has  yet  been  carved  and  dressed  with 

;   the  greatest  care  by  the  artist:  the  Dobbin  Figure,  though  ap- 

•   parently  clumsy,  yet  dances  in  a  very  amusing  and  natural  manner : 

the  Little  Boys'  Dance  has  been  liked  by  some;  and  please  to 

(  remark  the  richly  dressed  figure  of  the  Wicked  Nobleman,  on  which 

\  no  expense  has  been  spared,  and  which  Old  Nick  will  fetch  away  at 

(  the  end  of  this  singular  performance.  3 

And  with  this,  and  a  profound  bow  to  his  patrons,  the  Manager 
retires,  and  the  curtain  rises. 


London  :  June  28, 1848. 


VA  N IT Y    FAIR 

A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 

CHAPTER    I 

CHISmCK  MALL 

WHILE  the  present  century  was  in  its  teens,  and  on  one 
sunshiny  morning  in  June,  there  drove  up  to  the  great 
iron  gate  of  Miss  Pinkerton's  academy  for  young  ladies,  on 
Chiswick  Mall,  a  large  family  coach,  with  two  fat  horses  in  blazing 
harness,  driven  by  a  fat  coachman  in  a  three-cornered  hat  and  wig, 
at  the  rate  of  four  miles  an  hour.  A  black  servant,  who  reposed  on 
the  box  beside  the  fat  coachman,  uncurled  his  bandy  legs  as  soon  as 
the  equipage  drew  up  opposite  Miss  Pinkerton's  shining  brass  plate, 
and  as  he  pulled  the  bell,  at  least  a  score  of  young  heads  were  seen 
peering  out  of  the  narrow  windows  of  the  stately  old  brick  house. 
Nay,  the  acute  observer  might  have  recognised  the  little  red  nose 
of  good-natured  Miss  Jemima  Pinkerton  herself,  rising  over  some 
geranium-pots  in  the  window  of  that  lady's  own  drawing-room. 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Sedley's  coach,  sister,"  said  Miss  Jemima.  "  Sambo, 
the  black  servant,  has  just  rung  the  bell ;  and  the  coachman  has  a 
new  red  waistcoat." 

"  Have  you  completed  all  the  necessary  preparations  incident  to 
Miss  Sedley's  departure,  Miss  Jemima  ? "  asked  Miss  Pinkerton  her- 
self, that  majestic  lady ;  the  Semiramis  of  Hammersmith,  the  friend 
of  Doctor  Johnson,  the  correspondent  of  Mrs.  Chapone  herself. 

"The  girls  were  up  at  four  this  morning,  packing  her  tninki, 
sister,"  replied  Miss  Jemima ;  "we  have  made  her  a  bow-pot." 

"  Say  a  bouquet,  sister  Jemima,  'tis  more  genteel." 

"  Well,  a  booky  as  big  almost  as  a  hay-stack ;  I  have  put  up 
two  bottles  of  the  gillyflower-water  for  Mrs.  Sedley,  and  the  receipt 
for  making  it,  in  Amelia's  box." 

"And  I  trust,  Miss  Jemima,  you  have  made  a  copy  of  Miss 
Sedley's  account.    This  is  it,  is  it  ?    Very  good — ninety-three  poimds, 


%  VANITY    FAIR 

feui*  shilliag^.    Bo  kind  enough  to  address  it  to  John  Sedley,  Esquire, 
and  to  seal  thiB' billet  which  I  have  written  to  his  lady»" 

In  Miss  Jemima's  eyes  an  autograph  letter  of  her  sister,  Miss 
Pinkerton,  was  an  object  of  as  deep  veneration  as  would  have  been  a 
letter  from  a  sovereign.  Only  when  her  pupils  quitted  the  establish- 
ment, or  when  they  were  about  to  be  married,  and  once,  when  poor 
Miss  Birch  died  of  the  scarlet  fever,  was  Miss  Pinkerton  known  to 
write  personally  to  the  parents  of  her  pupils ;  and  it  was  Jemima's 
opinion  that  if  anything  could  console  Mrs.  Birch  for  her  daughter's 
loss,  it  would  be  that  pious  and  eloquent  composition  in  which  Miss 
Pinkerton  announced  the  event. 

In  the  present  instance  Miss  Pinkerton's  "  billet "  was  to  the 
following  effect : — 

"The  Mall,  Chiswick,  June  15,  18—. 

"Madam, — After  her  six  years'  residence  at  the  Mall,  I  have 
the  honour  and  happiness  of  presenting  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  to  her 
parents,  as  a  young  lady  not  unworthy  to  occupy  a  fitting  position 
in  their  polished  and  refined  circle.  Those  virtues  which  characterise 
the  young  English  gentlewoman,  those  accomplishments  which  become 
her  birth  and  station,  will  not  be  found  wanting  in  the  amiable  Miss 
Sedley,  whose  industry  and  obedience  have  endeared  her  to  her 
instructors,  and  whose  delightful  sweetness  of  temper  has  charmed 
her  aged  and  her  youthful  companions. 

"  In  music,  in  dancing,  in  orthography,  in  every  variety  of  em- 
broidery and  needlework,  she  will  be  found  to  have  realised  her 
Mends'  fondest  wishes.  In  geography  there  is  still  much  to  be 
desired ;  and  a  careful  and  undeviating  use  of  the  backboard,  for  four 
hours  daily  during  the  next  three  years,  is  recommended  as  necessary 
to  the  acquirement  of  that  dignified  deportment  and  carriagey  so 
requisite  for  every  young  lady  oi  fashion. 

"  In  the  principles  of  religion  and  morality,  Miss  Sedley  will  be 
found  worthy  of  an  establishment  which  has  been  honoured  by  the  pre- 
sence of  The  Great  Lexicographer,  and  the  patronage  of  the  admirable 
Mrs.  Chapone.  In  leaving  the  Mall,  Miss  Amelia  carries  with  her  the 
hearts  of  her  companions,  and  the  affectionate  regards  of  her  mistress, 
who  has  the  honour  to  subscribe  herself,  madam,  your  most  obliged 
humble  servant,  Barbara  Pinkerton. 

"  F.S. — Miss  Sharp  accompanies  Miss  Sedley.  It  is  particularly 
requested  that  Miss  Sharp's  stay  in  Russell  Square  may  not  exceed 
ten  days.  The  family  of  distinction  with  whom  she  is  engaged, 
desire  to  avail  themselves  of  her  services  as  soon  as  possibla" 

This  letter  completed,  Miss  Pinkerton  proceeded  to  write  her  own 
name,  and  Miss  Sedley^s,  in  the  fly-leaf  of  a  Johnson's  Dictionary — 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  3 

the  intereBting  work  which  she  invariably  preeeiited  to  her  scholans 
on  their  departure  from  the  Mall.  On  the  cover  was  inserted  a  Copy 
of  "  Lines  addressed  to  a  young  lady  on  quitting  Miss  Pinkerton's 
school,  at  the  Mall;  by  the  late  rervered  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson." 
In  feet,  the  Lexicographer's  name  was  always  on  the  Mps  of  this 
majestic  woman,  and  a  visit  he  had  paid  to  her  was  the  cause  of  her 
reputation  and  her  fortime. 

Being  commanded  by  her  elder  sister  to  .get  "the  Dictionary" 
from  the  cupboard,  Miss  Jemima  had  extracted  two  copies  of  the 
book  from  the  receptacle  in  question.  When  Miss  Pinkerton  had 
finished  the  inscription  in  the  first,  Jemima,  with  rather  a  dubious 
and  timid  air,  handed  her  the  second. 

"  For  whom  is  this,  Miss  Jemima  1 "  said  Miss  Pinkerton,  with 
awftil  coldness. 

"  For  Becky  Sharp,"  answered  Jemima,  trembling  very  much, 
and  blushing  over  her  withered  face  and  neck,  as  she  turned  her  bsick 
on  her  sister.     "  For  Becky  Sharp  :  she's  going  too." 

"  MISS  JEMIMA ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Pinkerton,  in  the  largest 
capitals.  "  Are  you  in  your  senses  ?  Replace  the  Dixonary  in  the 
closet,  and  never  venture  to  take  such  a  liberty  in  future." 

"  Well,  sister,  it's  only  two-and-ninepence,  and  poor  Becky  will 
be  miserable  if  she  don't  get  one." 

"  Send  Miss  Sedley  instantly  to  me,"  said  Miss  Pinkerton.  And 
so  venturing  not  to  say  another  word,  poor  Jemima  trotted  off,  ex- 
ceedingly flurried  and  nervous. 

Miss  Sedley's  papa  was  a  merchant  in  London,  and  a  man  of 
some  wealth ;  whereas  Miss  Sharp  was  an  articled  pupil,  for  whom 
Miss  Pinkerton  had  done,  as  she  thought,  quite  enough,  without  con- 
ferring upon  her  at  parting  the  high  honour  of  the  Dixonary. 

Although  schoolmistresses'  letters  are  to  be  trusted  no  more  nor 
less  than  churchyard  epitaphs ;  yet,  as  it  sometimes  happens  that  a 
person  departs  this  life,  who  is  really  deserving  of  all  the  praises  the 
stone-cutter  carves  over  his  bones ;  who  is  a  good  Christian,  a  good 
parent,  child,  wife,  or  husband ;  who  actually  does  leave  a  disconso- 
late family  to  mourn  his  loss ;  so  in  academies  of  the  male  and  female 
sey.  it  occurs  every  now  and  then,  that  the  pupil  is  fully  worthy  of  the 
pvaises  bestowed  by  the  disinterested  instructor.  Now,  Miss  Amelia 
Redley  was  a  young  lady  of  this  singular  species;  and  deserved  not  only 
all  that  Miss  Pinkerton  said  in  her  praise,  but  had  many  charming 
qualities  which  that  pompous  old  Minerva  of  a  woman  could  not  see, 
jlf  from  the  differences  of  rank  and  age  between  her  pupil  and  herself 

For  she  could  not  only  sing  like  a  lark,  or  a  Mrs.  Billington,  and 
dance  like  Hillisberg  or  Parisot;  and  embroider  beautifully;  and 
spell  as  well  as  a  Dixonary  itself;  but  she  had  such  a  kindly,  smiling 


VANITY    FAIR 

tender,  gentle,  generous  heart  of  her  own,  as  won  the  love  of  every- 
body who  came  near  her,  from  Mmerva  herself  down  to  the  poor 
1  in  the  scullery,  and  the  one-eyed  tart-woman's  daughter,  who 
as  permitted  to  vend  her  wares  once  a  week  to  the  young  ladies  in 
the  Mall.  She  had  twelve  intimate  and  bosom  friends  out  of  the 
twenty-four  young  ladies.  Even  envious  Miss  Briggs  never  spoke  ill 
of  her :  high  and  mighty  Miss  Saltire  (Lord  Dexter's  granddaughter) 
allowed  that  her  figure  was  genteel ;  and  as  for  Miss  Swartz,  the  rich 
woolly-haired  mulatto  from  St.  Kitt's,  on  the  day  Amelia  went  away 
she  was  in  such  a  passion  of  tears,  that  they  were  obliged  to  send 
for  Dr.  Floss,  and  half  tipsify  her  with  sal  volatile.  Miss  Pinkerton's 
attachment  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  from  the  high  position  and 
eminent  virtues  of  that  lady,  calm  and  dignified ;  but  Miss  Jemima 
had  already  whimpered  several  times  at  the  idea  of  Amelia's  depar- 
ture ;  and,  but  for  fear  of  her  sister,  would  have  gone  off  in  down- 
right hysterics,  like  the  heiress  (who  paid  double)  of  St.  Kitt's. 
Such  luxury  of  grief,  however,  is  only  allowed  to  parlour-boarders. 
Honest  Jemima  had  all  the  bills,  and  the  washing,  and  the  mending, 
and  the  puddings,  and  the  plate  and  crockery,  and  the  servants  to 
superintend.  But  why  speak  about  her,?  It  is  probable  that  we  shall  / 
not  hear  of  her  again  from  this  moment  to  the  end  of  time,  and  that/ 
when  the  great  filigree  iron  gates  are  once  closed  on  her,  she  and  her  \ 
awful  sister  will  never  issue  therefrom  into  this  little  world  of  history^ 

But  as  we  are  to  see  a  great  deal  of  Amelia,  there  is  no  harm  in 
saying,  at  the  outset  of  our  acquaintance,  that  she  was  a  dear  little 
creature ;  and  a  great  mercy  it  is,  both  in  life  and  in  novels,  which 
(and  the  latter  especially)  aboundln  villains  of  the  most  sombre  soft, 
that  we  are  to  have  for  a  constant  companion,  so  guilgless  and  good- 
natured  a  person.     As  she  is  not  a  heroine,  there  is  no  need  to 
describe  her  person  flhdeed  I  am  afraid  tHa!.  her  nose  was  rather 
short  than  otherwise,  and  her  cheeks  a  great  deal  too  round  and  red 
for  a  heroine ;  but  her  face  blushed  with  rosy  health,  and  her  lips 
with  the  freshest  of  smiles,  and  she  had  a  pair  of  eyes  which  sparkled 
with  the  brightest  and  honestest  good-humour,  except  indeed  when 
/^  they  filled  with  tears,  and  that  was  a  great  deal  too  often ;  for  the 
1    silly  thing  would  cry  over  a  dead  canary-bird ;  or  over  a  mouse,  that 
)  ihe  cat  haply  had  seized  upon ; .  or  over  the  end  of  a  novel,  were  ft 
^     \  ever  so  stupid ;  and  as  for  saying  an  unkind  word  to  her,  were  any 
^^      j  persons  hard-hearted  enough  to  do  so — ^why,  so  much  the  worse  for 
0^^   L'them.     Even  Miss  Pinkerton,  that  austere  and  god-like  woman, 
jh^  ,  ceased  scolding  her  after  the  first  time,  and  though  she  no  more 
P^^       comprehended  sensibility  than  she  did  Algebra,  gave  all  masters  and 
teachers  particular  orders  to  treat  Miss  Sedley  with  the  utmost 
gentleness,  as  harsh  treatment  was  injurious  to  her. 


Rebecca's  farewell. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  $ 

So  that  when  the  day  of  departure  came,  between  her  two 
customs  of  laughing  and  crying,  Miss  Sedley  was  greatly  puzzled  how"" 
to  act.  She  was  glad  to  go  home,  and  yet  most  woefully  sad  at 
leaving  school.  For  three  days  j^efore,  little  Laura  Martin,  the 
orphan,  followed  her  about  like  a  little  dog.  She  had  to  make  and 
receive  at  least  fourteen  presents — to  make  fourteen  solemn  promises 
of  writing  every  week  :  "  Send  my  letters  under  cover  to  my  grand- 
papa, the  Earl  of  Dexter,"  said  Miss  Saltire  (who,  by  the  way,  was 
rather  shabby)  :  "  Never  mind  the  postage,  but  write  every  day,  you 
dear  darling,"  said  the  impetuous  and  woolly-headed,  but  generous  .^^oX 
and  affectionate  Miss  Swartz ;  and  the'  orphan  little  Laura  Martin  (  .41* 

(who  was  just  in  round-hand),  took  her  friend's  hand  and  said,  look-       v<**-';^ 
ing  up  in  her  face  wistfully,  "  Amelia,  when  I  write  to  you  I  shall       «      w 
call  you  Mamma."     All  which  details,  I  have  no  doubt,  Jones,  who\ 
reads  this  book  at  his  Club,  will  pronounce  to  be  excessively  foolish,  ^ 
trivial,  twaddling,  and  ultra-sentimental.     Yes ;  I  can  see  Jones  at 
this  minute  (rather  flushed  with  his  joint  of  mutton  and  half-pint  of  i    ^^t^^ 
wine),  taking  out  his  pencil  and  scoring  under  the  words  "  foolish,  T         c, 
twaddling,"  &c.,  and  adding  to  them  his  own  remark  of  "  quite  true."  t /^taM«*w 
Well,  he  is  a  lofty  man  of  genius,  and  admires  the  great  and  heroic  \ 
in  life  and  novels ;  and  so  had  better  take  warning  and  go  elsewhere. J'hV^ 

Well,  then.  The  flowers,  and  the  presents,  and  the  trunks,  and 
bonnet-boxes  of  Miss  Sedley  having  been  arranged  by  Mr.  Sambo 
in  the  carriage,  together  with  a  very  small  and  weather-beaten  old 
cow's-skin  trunk  with  Miss  Sharp's  card  neatly  nailed  upon  it, 
which  was  delivered  by  Sambo  with  a  grin,  and  packed  by  the 
coachman  with  a  corresponding  sneer — thenour  for  parting  came ; 
and  the  grirf  of  that  moment  was  considerably  lessened  by  the 
admirable  discourse  which  Miss  Pinkerton  addressed  to  her  pupil. 
Not  that  the  parting  speech  caused  Amelia  to  philosophise,  or  that 
it  armed  her  in  any  way  with  a  calmness,  the  result  of  argument ; 
but  it  was  intolerably  dull,  pompous,  and  tedious ;  and  having  the 
fear  of  her  schoolmistress  greatly  before  her  eyes,  Miss  Sedley  did 
not  venture,  in  her  presence,  to  give  way  to  any  ebullitions  of 
private  grief.  A  seed-cake  and  a  bottle  of  wine  were  produced  in 
the  drawing-room,  as  on  the  solemn  occasions  of  the  visits  of  parents, 
and  these  refreshments  being  partaken  of.  Miss  Sedley  was  at  liberty 
to  depart. 

"  You'll  go  in  and  say  good-bye  to  Miss  Pinkerton,  Becky ! " 
said  Miss  Jemima  to  a  young  lady  of  whom  nobody  took  any  notice, 
and  who  wa*  coming  downstairs  with  her  own  bandbox. 

"  I  suppose  I  must,"  said  Miss  Sharp  calmly,  and  much  to  the 
wonder  of  Miss  Jemima;  and  the  latter  having  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  receiving  permission  to  come  in,  Miss  Sharp  advanced  in 


6  VANITY    FAIR 

a  very  unconcerned  manner,  and  said  in  French,  and  with  a  perfect 
accent,  "Mademoiselle,  je  viens  vous  faire  mes  adieux." 

Miss  Pinkerton  did  not  understand  French ;  she  only  directed 
those  who  did :  but  biting  her  lips  and  throwing  up  her  venerable 
and  Roman-nosed  head  (on  the  top  of  which  figured  a  large  and 
solemn  turban),  she  said,  "  Miss  Sharp,  I  wish  you  a  good  morning." 
As  the  Hammersmith  Semiramis  spoke,  she  waved  one  hand,  both 
by  way  of  adieu,  and  to  give  Miss  Sharp  an  opportunity  of  shaking 
one  of  the  fingers  of  the  hand  which  was  left  out  for  that  purpose. 

Miss  Sharp  only  folded  her  own  hands  with  a  very  frigid  smile 
and  bow,  and  quite  declined  to  accept  the  proffered  honour;  on 
which  Semiramis  tossed  up  her  turban  more  indignantly  than  ever. 
In  fact,  it  was  a  little  battle  between  the  young  lady  and  the  old 
one,  and  the  latter  was  worsted.  "  Heaven  bless  you,  my  child," 
said  she,  embracing  Amelia,  and  scowling  the  while  over  the  girl's 
shoulder  at  Miss  Sharp.  "  Come  away,  Becky,"  said  Miss  Jemima, 
pulling  the  young  woman  away  in  great  alarm,  and  the  drawing- 
room  door  closed  upon  them  for  ever. 

Then  came  the  struggle  and  parting  below.  Words  refuse  to  tell 
it.  All  the  servants  were  there  in  the  hall — all  the  dear  friends — 
all  the  young  ladies — the  dancing-master  who  had  just  arrived; 
and  there  was  such  a  scufiling,  and  hugging,  and  kissing,  and  crying, 
with  the  hysterical  yoops  of  Miss  Swartz,  the  parlour-boarder,  from 
her  room,  as  no  pen  can  depict,  and  as  the  tender  heart  would  fain 
pass  over.  The  embracing  was  over ;  they  parted — that  is.  Miss 
Sedley  parted  fi'om  her  friends.  Miss  Sharp  had  demurely  entered 
the  carriage  some  minutes  before.     Nobody  cried  for  leaving  her. 

Sambo  of  the  bandy  legs  slammed  the  carriage  door  bn  his  young 
weeping  mistress.  He  sprang  up  behind  the  carriage.  "  Stop  !  " 
cried  Miss  Jemima,  rushing  to  the  gate  with  a  parcel. 

"It's  some  sandwiches,  my  dear,"  said  she  to  Amelia.  "You 
may  be  hungry,  you  know ;  and  Becky,  Becky  Sharp,  here's  a  book 
for  you  that  my  sister — that  is,  I — Johnson's  Dixonary,  you  know ; 
you  mustn't  leave  us  without  that.  Good-bye.  Drive  on,  coach- 
man.    God  bless  you  ! " 

And  the  kind  creature  retreated  into  the  garden,  overcome  with 
emotion. 

But,  lo !  and  just  as' the  coach  drove  off.  Miss  Sharp  put  her  pale  face 
out  of  the  window  and  actually  flung  the  book  back  into  the  garden. 

This  almost  caused  Jemima  to  faint  with  terror.  "Well,  I 
never," — said  she — "  What  an  audacious  " — Emotion  prevented  her 
from  completing  either  sentence.  The  carriage  rolled  away ;  the  great 
gates  were  closed ;  the  bell  rang  for  the  dancing  lesson.  The  world 
iB  before  the  two  young  ladies ;  and  so,  farewell  to  Chiswick  Mall. 


y 


CHAPTER  II 

m  WHICH  MISS  SHARP  AND  MISS  SEDLEY  PREPARE  TO 
OPEN  THE  CAMPAIGN 

WHEN  Miss  Sharp  had  performed  the  heroical  act  mentioned 
in  the  last  chapter,  and  had  seen  the  Dixonary,  flying  over 
the  pavement  of  the  little  garden,  fall  at  length  at  the  feet 
of  the  astonished  Miss  Jemima,  the  young  lady's  countenance,  which 
had  before  worn  an  almost  livid  look  of  hatred,  assumed  a  smile  that 
perhaps  was  scarcely  more  agreeable,  and  she  sank  back  in  the 
carriage  in  an  easy  frame  of  mind,  saying,  "So  much  for  the 
Dixonary ;  and,  thank  God,  I'm  out  of  Chiswick." 

Miss  Sedley  was  almost  as  flurried  at  the  agt^of  defiftB<^as  Miss 
Jemima  had  been ;  for,  consider,  it  was  but  one  minute  that  she  had 
left  school,  and  the  impressions  of  six  years  are  not  got  over  in  that 
space  of  time.  Nay,  with  some  persons  those  awes  and  terrors  of 
youth  last  for  ever  and  ever.  I  know,  for  instance,  an  old  gentleman! 
of  sixty-eight,  who  said  tcJ-  me  one  morning  at  breakfast,  with  a  very/ 
agitated  countenance,  "  I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  was  flogged  bv 
Dr.  Raine."  Fancy  had  carried  him  back  five-and-fifty  years  in  the' 
com-se  of  that  evening.  Dr.  Raine  and  his  rod  were  just  as  awful  to 
him  in  his  heart  then,  at  sixty-eight,  as  they  had  been  at  thirteen. 
If  the  Doctor,  with  a  large  birch,  had  appeared  bodily  to  him,  even 
at  the  age  of  threescore  and  eight,  and  had  said  in  awiul  voice, 
"  Boy,  take  down  your  pant  *  *  "  ?  Well,  weU,  Miss  Sedley 
was  exceedingly  alarmed  at  this  act  of  insubordination. 

"nHow  could  you  do  so,  Rebecca  1"  at  last  she  said,  after  a 
pause. 

"Why,  do  you  think  Miss  Pinkerton  will  come  out  and  order 
me  back  to  the  black-hole  *? "  said  Rebecca,  laughing. 

"No:  but " 

"  I  bate  the  whole  house,"  continued  Miss  Sharp  in  a  fiiry. 
"  I  hope  I  may  never  set  eyes  on  it  again.  I  wish  it  were  in  the 
bottom  of  the  Thames,  I  do  ;  and  if  Miss  Pinkerton  were  there,  I 
wouldn't  pick  her  out,  that  I  wouldn't.  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to 
see  her  floating  in  the  water  yonder,  turban  and  aU,  with  her  train 
streaming  after  her,  and  her  nose  like  the  beak  of  a  wherry." 


8  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Hush  ! "  cried  Miss  Sedley. 

"  Why,  will  the  black  footman  tell  tales  ? "  cried  Miss  Rebecca, 
laughing.  "  He  may  go  back  and  tell  Miss  Pinkerton  that  I  hate 
her  with  all  my  soul ;  and  I  wish  he  would ;  and  I  wish  I  had  a 

I  means  of  proving  it,  too.  For  two  years  I  have  only  had  insults 
and  outrage  from  her.  I  have  been  treated  worse'  than  any  servant 
in  the  kitchen.  I  have  never  had  a  friend  or  a  kind  word,  except 
from  you.  I  have  been  made  to  tend  the  little  girls  in  the  lower 
schoolroom,  and  to  talk  French  to  the  Misses,  until  I  grew  sick  of 
my  mother-tongue.  But  that  talking  French  to  Miss  Pinkerton 
was  capital  fun,  wasn't  it?  She  doesn't  know  a  word  of  French, 
and  was  too  proud  to  confess  it.  I  believe  it  was  that  which  made 
her  part  with  me ;  and  so  thank  Heaven  for  French.  Vive  la 
France  !   Vive  V Empereur  !   Vive  Bonaparte  !  " 

"  0  ftebecca,  Rebecca,  for  shame  !  "  cried  Miss  Sedley ;  for  this 

was  the  greatest  blasphemy  Rebecca  had  as  yet  uttered;  and  in 

those  days,  in  England,  to  say,  "  Long  live  Bonaparte  !  "  was  as 

much  as  to  say,  "  Long  live  Lucifer  !  "     "  How  can  you — how  dare 

you  have  such  wicked,  revengeful  thoughts  ? " 

*  r*       "  Revenge  may  be  wicked,  but  it's  natural,"  answered  Miss 

I    Rebecca.     "  I'm  no  angel."     And,  to  say  the  truth,  she  certainly 

\_^was  not. 

For  it  may  be  remarked  in  the  course  of  this  little  conversation 

(which  took  place  as  the  coach  rolled  along  lazily  by  the  river  side) 

,  that  though  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  has  twice  had  occasion  to  thank 

Heaven,  it  has  been,  in  the  first  place,  for  ridding  her  of  some 

person  whom  she  hated,  and  secondly,  for  enabling  her  to  bring  her 

enemies  to  some  sort  of  perplexity  or  conftision,  neither*  of  which  are 

very  amiable  motives  for  religious  gratitude,  or  such  as  would  be 

put  forward  by  persons  of  a  kind  and  placable  disposition.     Miss 

Rebecca  was  not,  then,  in  the  least  kind  or  placable.     All  the  world 

used  her  ill,  said  this  young  misanthropist,  and  we  may  be  pretty 

certain  that  persons  whom  aU  the  world  treats  ill,  deserve  entirely 

f'  the  treatment  they  get.     The  world  is  a  looking-glass,  and  gives 

1  back  to  every  man  the  reflection  of  his  own  face.     Frown  at  it,  and 

I   it  will  in  turn  look  sourly  upon  you ;  laugh  at  it  and  with  it,  and 

J   it  is  a  jolly  kind  companion ;  and  so  let  all  young  persons  take  their 

L  choice.     This  is  certain,  that  if  the  world  neglected  Miss  Sharp,  she 

never  was  known  to  have  done  a  good  action  in  behalf  of  anybody ; 

nor  can  it  be  expected  that  twenty-four  young  ladies  should  all  be 

as  amiable  as  the  heroine  of  this  work.  Miss  Sedley  (whom  we  have 

selected  for  the  very  reason  that  she  was  the  best-natured  of  all ; 

dtherwise  what  on  earth  was  to  have  prevented  us  from  putting 

up  Miss  Swartz,  or  Miss  Crump,  or  Miss  Hopkins,  as  heroine  in  her 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  9 

place  X) — it  could  not  be  expected  that  every  one  should  be  of  the    \ 
humble  and  gentle  temper  of  Miss  Amelia  Sedley ;  should  take     ,  5'*-^^' 
every  opportunity  to  vanquish  Rebecca's  hard-heartcdness  and  ill-         '  ^^ 
humour;  and,  by  a  thousand  kind' words  and  offices,  overcome,  for 
once  at  least,  her  hostility  to  her  kind.  |W^*^  L 

Miss  Sharp's  father  was  an  artist,  and  in  that  quality  had  given  ^. 

lessons  of  drawing  at  Miss  Pinkerton's  school.  He  was  a  clever  A>*'*'^ 
man ;  a  pleasant  companion ;  a  careless  student ;  with  a  great  a^J^^ 
propensity  for  running  into  debt,  and  a  partiality  for  the  tavern. 
When  he  was  drank,  he  used  to  beat  his  wife  and  daughter ;  and 
the  next  morning,  with  a  headache,  he  would  rail  at  the  world  for 
its  neglect  of  his  genius,  and  abuse,  with  a  good  deal  of  cleverness, 
and  sometimes  with  perfect  reason,  the  fools,  his  brother  painters. 
As  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  he  could  keep  himself,  and 
as  he  owed  money  for  a  mile  round  Soho,  where  he  lived,  he  thought 
to  better  his  circumstances  by  marrying  a  young  woman  of  the 
French  nation,  who  was  by  profession  an  opera-girl.  The  humble 
calling  of  her  female  parent  Miss  Sharp  never  alluded  to,  but  used 
to  state  subsequently  that  the  Entrechats  were  a  noble  family  of 
Gascony,  and  took  great  pride  in  her  descent  from  them.  And 
curious  it  is,  that  as  she  advanced  in  life  this  young  lady's  ancestors , 
increased  in  rank  and  splendour. 

Rebecca's  mother  had  had  some  education  somewhere,  and  her 
daughter  spoke  French  with  purity  and  a  Parisian  accent.  It  was 
in  those  days  rather  a  rare  accomplishment,  and  led  to  her  engage- 
ment with  the  orthodox  Miss  Pinkerton.  For  her  mother  being 
dead,  her  father,  finding  himself  not  likely  to  recover,  after  his  third 
attack  of  delirium  tremens,  wrote  a  manly  and  pathetic  letter  to 
Miss  Pinkerton,  recommending  the  orphan  child  to  her  protection, 
and  so  descended  to  the  grave,  after  two  bailiffs  had  quarrelled  over 
his  corpse.  Rebecca  was  seventeen  when  she  came  to  Chiswick, 
and  was  bound  over  as  an  articled  pupil ;  her  duties  being  to  talk 
French,  as  we  have  seen ;  and  her  privileges  to  live  cost  free,  and, 
with  a  few  guineas  a  year,  to  gather  scraps  of  knowledge  from  the 
professors  who  attended  the  school. 

She  was  small  and  slight  in  person ;  pale,  sandy-haired,  and  with 
eyes  habitually  cast  down :  when  they  looked  up  they  were  very 
large,  odd,  and  attractive;  so  attractive,  that  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Crisp,  fresh  from  Oxford,  and  curate  to  the  Vicar  of  Chiswick,  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Flowerdew,  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Sharp ;  being  shot 
dead  hy  a  glance  of  her  eyes  which  was  fired  all  the  way  across 
Chiswick  Church  from  the  school-pew  to  the  reading-desk.  This 
in^^.^tuated  young  man  used  sometimes  to  take  tea  with  Miss  Pinker- 


lo  VANITY    FAIR 

ton,  to  whom  he  had  been  presented  by  his  mamma,  and  actually 
proposed  something  like  marriage  in  an  intercepted  note,  which  the 
one-eyed  apple-woman  was  charged  to  deliver.  Mrs.  Crisp  was 
summoned  from  Buxton,  and  abruptly  carried  off  her  darling  boy ; 
but  the  idea,  even,  of  such  an  eagle  in  the  Chiswick  dovecot  caused 
a  great  flutter  in  the  breast  of  Miss  Pinkerton,  who  would  have 
sent  away  Miss  Sharp,  but  that  she  was  bound  to  her  under  a 
forfeit,  and  who  never  could  thoroughly  believe  the  young  lady's 
protestations  that  she  had  never  exchanged  a  single  word  with 
Mr.  Crisp,  except  under  her  own  eyes  on  the  ;wo  occasions  when 
she  had  met  him  at  tea. 

By  the  side  of  many  tall  and  bouncing  yoimg^  ladies  in  the  estab- 
lishment,  Rebecca  Sharp  looked  like  a  child.  '  But  she  had  the 
'dismal  precocity  of  poverty.  Many  a  dun  had  she  talked  to,  and 
i  turned  away  from  her  father's  door;  many  a  tradesman  had  she 
I  coaxed  and  wheedled  into  good-humour,  and  into  the  granting  of 
\   one  meal  more.     She  sate  commonly  with  her  father,  who  was  very 

i proud  of  her  wit,  and  heard  the  talk  of  many  of  his  wild  companions 
— often  but  ill-suited  for  a  girl  to  hear.  But  she  never  had  been  a 
girl,  she  said;  she  had  been  a  woman  since  she  was  eight  years 
old.  Oh,  why  did  Miss  Pinkerton  let  such  a  dangerous  bird  into 
her  cage  1 

The  fact  is,  the  old  lady  believed  Rebecca  to  be  the  meekest 
creature  in  the  world,  so  admirably,  on  the  occasions  when  her  father 
brought  her  to  Chiswick,  used  Rebecca  to  perform  the  part  of  the 
ing^niie  ;  and  only  a  year  before  the  arrangement  by  which  Rebecca 
had  been  admitted  into  her  house,  and  when  Rebecca  was  sixteen 
years  old,  Miss  Pinkerton  majestically,  and  with  a  little  speech, 
made  her  a  present  of  a  doll — which  was,  by  the  way,  the  confis- 
cated property  of  Miss  Swindle,  discovered  surreptitiously  nursing 
it  in  school-hours.  How  the  father  and  daughter  laughed  as  they 
trudged  home  together  after  the  evening  party  (it  was  on  the  occasion 
of  the  speeches,  when  all  the  professors  were  invited),  and  how  Miss 
Pinkerton  would  have  raged  had  she  seen  the  caricature  of  herself 
which  the  little  mimic,  Rebecca,  managed  to  make  out  of  her  doll. 
Becky  used  to  go  through  dialogues  with  it ;  it  formed  the  delight 
of  Newman  Street,  Gerrard  Street,  and  the  Artists'  quarter  :  and  the 
young  painters,  when  they  came  to  take  their  gin-and-water  with  their 
lazy,  dissolute,  clever,  jovial  senior,  used  regularly  to  ask  Rebecca  if 
Miss  Pinkerton  was  at  home  :  she  was  as  well  known  to  them,  poor 
soul !  as  Mr.  Lawrence  or  President  West.  Once  Rebecca  had  the 
honour  to  pass  a  few  days  at  Chiswick ;  after  which  she  brought 
back  Jemima,  and  erected  another  doll  as  Miss  Jemmy :  for  though 
that  honest  creature  had  made  and  given  her  jelly  and  cake  enough 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  ii 

for  three  children,  and  a  seven-shilling  piece  at  parting,  the  girl'^l 
sense  of  ridicule  was  far  stronger  than  her  gratitude,  and  she  sacri-jj 
ficed  Miss  Jemmy  quite  as  pitilessly  as  her  sister. 

The  catastrophe  came,  and  she  was  brought  to  the  Mall  as  to  her 
home.     The  rigid  formality  of  the  place  suffocated  her  :  the  prayers  / 
and  the  meals,  the  lessons  and  the  walks,  which  were  arranged} 
with  a  conventual  regularity,  oppressed  her  almost  beyond  endur-i 
ance ;  and  she  looked  back  to  the  Ifreedom  and  the  beggary  of  the 
old  studio  in  Soho  with  so  much  regret,  that  everybody,  herself 
included,  fancied  she  was  consumed  with  grief  for  her  father.     She 
had  a  little  room  in  the  garret,  where  the  maids  heard  her  walking 
and  sobbing  at  night;  but  it  was  with  rage,  and  not  with  grief 
She  had  not  been  much  of  a  dissembler,  until  now  her  loneliness 
taught  her  to  feign.     She  had  never  mingled  in  the  society  of 
women :  her  father,  reprobate  as  he  was,  was  a  man  of  talent ;  his 
conversation  was  a  thousand  times  more  agreeable  to  her  than  the 
talk  of  such  of  her  own  sex  as  she  now  encountered.     The  pompous  / 
vanity  of  the  old  schoolmistress,  the  foolish  good-humour  of  her  \ 
sister,  the  silly  chat  and  scandal  of  the  elder  girls,  and  the  frigid  j 
correctness  of  the  governesses  equally  annoyed  her ;  and  she  had  no 
soft  maternal  heart,  this  unlucky  girl,  otherwise  the  prattle  and  talk 
of  the  younger  children,  with  whose  care  she  was  chiefly  intrusted, 
might  have  soothed  and  interested  her ;  but  she  lived  among  them 
two  years,  and  not  one  was  sorry  that  she  went  away.     The  gentle 
tender-hearted  Amelia  Sedley  was  the  only  person  to  whom  she 
could  attach  herself  in  the  least;  and  who  could  help  attaching 
herself  to  Amelia  ? 

The  happiness — the  superior  advantages  of  the  young  women 
round  about  her,  gave  Rebecca  inexpressible  pangs  of  envy.  "  What 
airs  that  girl  gives  herself,  because  she  is  an  Earl's  granddaughter," 
she  said  of  one.  "  How  they  cringe  and  bow  to  that  Creole,  because 
of  her  hundred  thousand  pounds  !  I  am  a  thousand  times  cleverer 
and  more  charming  than  that  creature,  for  all  her  wealth.  I  am 
as  well  bred  as  the  Earl's  granddaughter,  for  all  her  fine  pedigree ; 
and  yet  every  one  passes  me  by  here.  And  yet,  when  I  was  at  my 
father's,  did  not  the  men  give  up  their  gayest  balls  and  parties  in 
order  to  pass  the  evening  with  me  1 "  She  determined  at  any  rate 
to  get  free  from  the  prison  in  which  she  found  herself,  and  now 
began  to  act  for  herself,  and  for  the  first  time  to  make  connected 
plans  for  the  future. 

She  took  advantage,  therefore,  of  the  means  of  study  the  place 
offered  her ;  and  as  she  was  already  a  musician  and  a  good  linguist, 
she  speedily  went  through  the  little  coiu^e  of  study  which  was 
considered  necessary  for  ladies  in  those  days.     Her  music  she  pnu)- 


la  VANITY    FAIR 

tised  incessantly,  and  one  day,  when  the  girls  were  out,  and  she 
had  remained  at  home,  she  was  overheard  to  play  a  piece  so  well, 
that  Minerva  thought  wisely,  she  could  spare  herself  the  expense  of 
a  master  for  the  juniors,  and  intimated  to  Miss  Sharp  that  she  was 
to  instruct  them  in  music  for  the  future. 

The  girl  refused ;  and  for  the  first  time,  and  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  majestic  mistress  of  the  school.  "  I  am  here  to  speak  French 
with  the  children,"  Rebecca  said  abruptly,  "not  to  teach  them 
music,  and  save  money  for  you.  Give  me  money,  and  I  will 
teach  them." 

Minerva  was  obliged  to  yield,  and,  of  course,  disliked  her  from 
that  day.  "For  five-and-thirty  years,"  she  said,  and  with  great 
justice,  "I  never  have  seen  the  individual  who  has  dared  in  my 
own  house  to  question  my  authority.  I  have  nourished  a  viper  in 
my  bosom." 

"A  viper — a  fiddlestick,"  said  Miss  Sharp  to  the  old  lady, 
almost  fainting  with  astonishment.  "You  took  me  because  I 
was  useful.  There  is  no  question  of  gratitude  between  us.  I 
hate  this  place,  and  want  to  leave  it.  I  will  do  nothing  here  but 
what  I  am  obliged  to  do." 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  old  lady  asked  her  if  she  was  aware  she 
was  speaking  to  Miss  Pinkerton  1  Rebecca  laughed  in  her  face,  with 
a  horrid  sarcastic  demoniacal  laughter,  that  almost  sent  the  school- 
mistress into  fits.  "  Give  me  a  sum  of  money,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
get  rid  of  me — or,  if  you  like  better,  get  me  a  good  place  as  governess 
in  a  nobleman's  family — you  can  do  so  if  you  please."  And  in  their 
further  disputes  she  always  returned  to  this  point,  "  Get  me  a  situa- 
tion— we  hate  each  other,  and  I  am  ready  to  go." 

Worthy  Miss  Pinkerton,  although  she  had  a  Roman  nose  and  a 
turban,  and  was  as  tall  as  a  grenadier,  and  had  been  up  to  this  time 
an  irresistible  princess,  had  no  will  or  strength  like  that  of  her  little 
apprentice,  and  in  vain  did  battle  against  her,  and  tried  to  overawe 
her.  Attempting  once  to  scold  her  in  public,  Rebecca  hit  upon  the 
before-mentioned  plan  of  answering  her  in  French,  which  quite  'Outed 
the  old  woman.  In  order  to  maintain  authority  in  her  school,  it 
became  necessary  to  remove  this  rebel,  this  monster,  this  serpent, 
this  firebrand;  and  hearing  about  this  time  that  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's 
family  was  in  want  of  a  governess,  she  actually  recommended  Miss 
Sharp  for  the  situation,  firebrand  and  serpent  as  she  waa.  ''  I  cannot, 
certainly,"  she  said,  "  find  fault  with  Miss  Sharp's  conduct,  except  to 
myself;  and  must  allow  that  her  talents  and  accomplishments  are 
of  a  high  order.  As  far  as  the  head  goes,  at  least,  she  does  credit  to 
the  educational  system  pursued  at  my  estabHshment." 

And  so  the  schoolmistress  reconciled  the  recommendation  to  her 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  13 

conscience,  and  the  indentures  were  cancelled,  and  the  apprentice  was 
free.  The  battle  here  described  in  a  few  lines,  of  coui'se,  lasted  for 
some  months.  And  as  Miss  Sedley,  being  now  in  her  seventeenth 
year,  was  about  to  leave  school,  and  had  a  friendship  for  Miss  Sharp 
("  'tis  the  only  point  in  Amelia's  Ibehaviour,"  said  Minerva,  "  which 
has  not  been  satisfactory  to  her  mistress  "),  Miss  Sharp  was  invited 
by  her  friend  to  pass  a  week  with  her  at  home,  before  she  entered 
upon  her  duties  as  governess  in  a  private  family. 

Thus  the  world  began  for  these  two  young  ladies.  For  Amelia 
it  was  quite  a  new,  fresh,  brilliant  world,  with  all  the  bloom  upon  it. 
It  was  not  quite  a  new  one  for  Rebecca — (indeed,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told  with  respect  to  the  Crisp  affair,  the  tart-woman  hinted  to 
somebody,  who  took  an  affidavit  of  the  fact  to  somebody  else,  that 
there  was  a  great  deal  more  than  was  made  public  regarding  Mr. 
Crisp  and  Miss  Sharp,  and  that  his  letter  was  in  answer  to  another 
letter).  But  who  can  tell  you  the  real  truth  of  the  matter  ?  At  all 
events,  if  Rebecca  was  not  beginning  the  world,  she  was  beginning  it 
over  again. 

By  the  time  the  young  ladies  reached  Kensington  turnpike, 
Amelia  had  not  forgotten  her  companions,  but  had  dried  her  tears, 
and  had  blushed  very  much  and  been  delighted  at  a  young  officer  ot 
the  Life  Guards,  who  spied  her  as  he  was  riding  by,  and  said,  "  A 
dem  fine  gal,  egad  ! "  and  before  the  carriage  arrived  in  Russell  Square^ 
a  great  deal  of  conversation  had  taken  place  about  the  Drawing-room, 
and  whether  or  not  young  ladies  wore  powder  as  well  as  hoops  when 
presented,  and  whether  she  was  to  have  that  honour :  to  the  Lord 
Mayor's  ball  she  knew  she  was  to  go.  And  when  at  length  home 
was  reached.  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  skipped  out  on  Sambo's  arm,  as 
happy  and  as  handsome  a  girl  as  any  in  the  whole  big  city  of  London. 
Both  he  and  coachman  agreed  on  this  point,  and  so  did  her  father 
and  mother,  and  so  did  every  one  of  the  servants  in  the  house,  as 
they  stood  bobbing,  and  curtseying,  and  smiling,  in  the  hall  to  wel- 
come their  young  mistress. 

You  may  be  sure  that  she  showed  Rebecca  over  every  room  of 
the  house,  and  everything  in  every  one  of  her  drawers ;  and  her  books, 
and  her  piano,  and  her  dresses,  and  all  her  necklaces,  brooches,  laces, 
and  gimcracks.  She  insisted  upon  Rebecca  accepting  the  white  cor- 
nelian and  the  turquoise  rings,  and  a  sweet  sprigged  muslin,  which 
was  too  small  for  her  now,  though  it  would  fit  her  friend  to  a  nicety ; 
and  she  determined  in  her  heart  to  ask  her  mother's  permission  to 
present  her  white  Cashmere  shawl  to  her  friend.  Could  she  not 
spare  it?  and  had  not  her  brother  Joseph  just  brought  her  two 
from  India? 

When  Rebecca  saw  the  two  ma^ificent  Cashmere  shawls  which 


14  VANITY    FAIR 

Joseph  Sedley  had  brought  home  to  his  sister,  she  said,  with  perfect 
[  truth,  "that  it  must  be  delightful  to  have  a  brother,"  and  easily  got 
I  the  pity  of  the  tender-hearted  Amelia,  for  being  alone  in  the  world, 
I  an  orphan  without  friends  or  kindred. 

"  Not  alone,"  said  Amelia ;  "  you  know,  Rebecca,  I  shall  always 
be  your  friend,  and  love  you  as  a  sister — indeed  I  will." 

"  Ah,  but  to  have  parents,  as  you  have — kind,  rich,  affectionate 
parents,  who  give  you  everything  you  ask  for ;  and  their  love,  which 
is  more  precious  than  all !  My  poor  papa  could  give  me  nothing, 
and  I  had  but  two  frocks  in  all  the  world !  And  then,  to  have  a 
brother,  a  dear  brother !     Oh,  how  you  must  love  him  !  " 

Amelia  laughed. 

"  What !  don't  you  love  him  %  you,  who  say  you  love  everybody  ? " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I  do — only " 

"Only  what?" 

"  Only  Joseph  doesn't  seem  to  care  much  whether  I  love  him  or 
not.  He  gave  me  two  fingers  to  shake  when  he  arrived  after  ten 
years'  absence !  He  is  very  kind  and  good,  but  he  scarcely  ever 
speaks  to  me ;  I  think  he  loves  his  pipe  a  great  deal  better  than  his  " 
1  *  *  *  but  here  Amelia  checked  herself,  for  why  should  she  speak 
{  ill  of  her  brother  %  "He  was  very  kind  to  me  as  a  child,"  she 
added ;  "  I  was  but  five  years  old  when  he  went  away." 

"Isn't  he  very. rich?"  said  Rebecca.  "They  say  all  Indian 
nabobs  are  enormously  rich." 

"  I  believe  he  has  a  very  large  income." 

"  And  is  your  sister-in-law  a  nice  pretty  woman  1 " 

"La !  Joseph  is  not  married,"  said  AmeUa,  laughing  again. 

Perhaps  she  had  mentioned  the  fact  already  to  Rebecca,  but  that 
young  lady  did  not  appear  to  have  remembered  it ;  indeed,  vowed 
and  protested  that  she  expected  to  see  a  number  of  AmeHa's  nephews 
and  nieces.  She  was  quite  disappointed  that  Mr.  Sedley  was  not 
married ;  she  was  sure  Ameha  had  said  he  was,  and  she  doted  so  on 
little  children. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  had  enough  of  them  at  Chiswick,"  said 
Ameha,  rather  wondering  at  the  sudden  tenderness  on  her  friend's 
part ;  and  indeed  in  later  days  Miss  Sharp  w^ould  never  have  com- 
mitted herself  so  far  as  to  advance  opinions,  the  untruth  of  which 
would  have  been  so  easily  detected.  But  we  must  remember  that 
I  she  is  but  nineteen  as  yet,  unused  to  the  art  of  deceiving,  poor 
I  innocent  creature !  and  making  her  own  experience  in  her  own 
L  person.  The  meaning  of  the  above  series  of  queries,  as  translated  in 
the  heart  of  this  ingenious  yoimg  woman,  was  simply  this : — "  If 
Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  is  rich  and  unmarried,  why  should  I  not  marry 
him  ?    I  have  only  a  fortnight,  to  be  sure,  but  there  is  no  harm  in 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  15 

trjdng."  And  she  determined  within  herself  to  make  this  laudable 
attempt.  She  redoubled  her  caresses  to  Amelia;  she  kissed  the 
white  cornelian  necklace  as  she  put  it  on;  and  vowed  she  would 
never,  never  part  with  it.  When  the  dinner-bell  rang  she  went 
downstairs  with  her  arm  round  her  friend's  waist,  as  is  the  habit  of 
young  ladies.  She  was  so  agitated  at  the  drawing-room  door,  that 
she  could  hardly  find  courage  to  enter.  "Feel  my  heart,  how  it 
beats,  dear  ! "  said  she  to  her  friend. 

"  No,  it  doesn't,"  said  Amelia.     "  Come  in,  don't  be  frightened, 
Papa  won't  do  you  any  harm." 


9>  '^ 


<e5 


CHAPTER   III 

REBECCA  IS  IN  PRESENCE  OF  THE  ENEMY 

AVERY  stout,  puffy  man,  in  buckskins  and  Hessian  boots, 
with  several  immense  neckcloths,  that  rose  almost  to  his  nose, 
with  a  red  striped  waistcoat  and  an  apple  green  coat  with 
steel  buttons  almost  as  large  as  crown  pieces  (it  was  the  morning 
costume  of  a  dandy  or  blood  of  those  days),  was  reading  the  paper 
by  the  fire  when  the  two  girls  entered,  and  bounced  off  his  arm-chair, 
and  blushed  excessively,  and  hid  his  entire  face  almost  in  his  neck- 
cloths at  this  apparition. 

"  It's  only  your  sister,  Joseph,"  said  Amelia,  laughing  and  shaking 
the  two  fingers  which  he  held  out.  "  I've  come  home  for  gqod,  you 
know;  and  this  is  my  Mend,  Miss  Sharp,  whom  you  have  heard 
me  mention." 

"  No,  never,  upon  my  word,"  said  the  head  under  the  neckcloth, 
shaking  very  much, — "  that  is,  yes, — what  abominably  cold  weather, 
Miss ; " — and  herewith  he  fell  to  poking  the  fire  with  all  his  might, 
although  it  was  in  the  middle  of  June. 

"  He's  very  handsome,"  whispered  Rebecca  to  Amelia,  rather  loud. 

"  Do  you  think  so  1 "  said  the  latter.     "  I'll  tell  him." 

"  Darling !  not  for  worlds,"  said  Miss  Sharp,  starting  back  as 
timid  as  a  fawn.  She  had  previously  made  a  respectful  virgin-like 
curtsey  to  the  gentleman,  and  her  modest  eyes  gazed  so  perseveringly 
on  the  carpet  that  it  was  a  wonder  how  she  should  have  found  an 
opportunity  to  see  him. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  beautiful  shawls,  brother,"  said  Amelia  to 
the  fire  poker.     "  Are  they  not  beautiful,  Rebecca  ? " 

"  0  heavenly ! "  said  Miss  Sharp,  and  her  eyes  went  from  the 
carpet  straight  to  the  chandelier. 

Joseph  still  continued  a  huge  clattering  at  the  poker  and  tongs, 
pufl&ng  and  blowing  the  while,  and  turning  as  red  as  his  yellow  face 
would  allow  him.  "I  can't  make  you  such  handsome  presents, 
Joseph,"  continued  his  sister,  "but  while  I  was  at  school,  I  have 
embroidered  for  you  a  very  beautiful  pair  of  braces." 

"  Good  Gad  !  Amelia,"  cried  the  brother,  in  serious  alarm,  "  what 
do  you  mean  ? "  and  plunging  with  all  his  might  at  the  bell-rope,  that 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  17 

article  of  furniture  came  away  in  his  hand,  and  increased  the  honest 
fellow's  confusion.  "  For  Heaven's  sake  see  if  my  buggy's  at  the  door. 
I  canH  wait.     I  must  go.     D —  that  groom  of  mine.     I  must  go." 

At  this  minute  the  father  of  ^he  family  walked  in,  rattling  his 
seals  like  a  true  British  merchant.  "  What's  the  matter,  Emmy  1 " 
says  he. 

"  Joseph  wants  me  to  see  if  his — his  buggy  is  at  the  door.  What 
is  a  buggy,  papa"?" 

"  It  is  a  one-horse  palanquin,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  who  was 
a  wag  in  his  way. 

Joseph  at  this  burst  out  into  a  wild  fit  of  laughter ;  in  which, 
encountering  the  eye  of  Miss  Sharp,  he  stopped  all  of  a  sudden,  as 
if  he  had  been  shot. 

"  This  young  lady  is  your  friend  ?  Miss  Sharp,  I  am  very  happy 
to  see  you.  Have  you  and  Emmy  been  quarrelling  already  with 
Joseph,  that  he  wants  to  be  off  ? " 

"  I  promised  Bonamy  of  our  service,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  "  to  dine 
with  him." 

"  0  fie  !  didn't  you  tell  your  mother  you  would  dine  here  1 " 

*'  But  in  this  dress  it's  impossible." 

"Look  at  him,  isn't  he  handsome  enough  to  dine  anywhere, 
Miss  Sharp  r' 

On  which,  of  course.  Miss  Sharp  looked  at  her  friend,  and  they 
both  set  off  in  a  fit  of  laughter,  highly  agreeable  to  the  old 
gentleman. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  pair  of  buckskins  like  those  at  Miss 
Pinkerton's  ? "  continued  he,  following  up  his  advantage. 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  Father,"  cried  Joseph. 

"  There  now,  I  have  hurt  his  feelings.  Mrs.  Sedley,  my  dear, 
I  have  hiu-t  your  son's  feeUngs.  I  have  alluded  to  his  buckskins. 
Ask  Miss  Sharp  if  I  haven't  1  Come,  Joseph,  be  firiends  with  Miss 
Sharp,  and  let  us  all  go  to  dinner." 

"There's  a  pillau,  Joseph,  just  as  you  like  it,  and  papa  has 
brought  home  the  best  turbot  in  Billingsgate." 

"Come,  come,  sir,  walk  downstairs  with  Miss  Sharp,  and  I 
will  follow  with  these  two  young  women,"  said  the  father,  and  he 
took  an  arm  of  wife  and  daughter  and  walked  merrily  off. 

If  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  had  determined  in  her  heart  upon  making 
the  conquest  of  this  big  beau,  I  don't  think,  ladies,  we  have  any 
right  to  blame  her;  for  though  the  task  of  husband-hunting  is 
generally,  and  with  becoming  modesty,  entrusted  by  young  persons 
to  their  mammas,  recollect  that  Miss  Sharp  had  no  kind  parent  to 
arrange  these  delicate  matters  for  her,  and  that  if  she  did  not  «[et 


i8  VANITY   FAIR 

a  husband  for  herself,  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  wide  world  who 
would  take  the  trouble  off  her  hands.  What  causes  young  people 
to  "  come  cm^,"  but  the  noble  ambition  of  matrimony  ?  What  sends 
them  trooping  to  watering-places  ?  What  keeps  them  dancing  till 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning  through  a  whole  mortal  season  ?  What 
causes  them  to  labour  at  pianoforte  sonatas,  and  to  learn  four  songs 
from  a  fashionable  master  at  a  guinea  a  lesson,  and  to  play  the 
harp  if  they  have  handsome  arms  and  neat  elbows,  and  to  wear 
Lincoln  Green  toxophilite  hats  and  feathers,  but  that  they  may 
bring  down  some  "  desirable  "  young  man  with  those  killing  bows 
and  arrows  of  theirs  1  What  causes  respectable  parents  to  take  up 
their  carpets,  set  their  houses  topsy-turvy,  and  spend  a  fifth  of 
their  year's  income  in  ball  suppers  and  iced  champagne"?  Is  it 
sheer  love  of  their  species,  and  an  unadulterated  wish  to  see  young 
people  happy  and  dancing  1  Psha !  they  want  to  marry  their 
daughters ;  and,  as  honest  Mrs.  Sedley  has,  in  the  depths  of  her 
kind  heart,  already  arranged  a  score  of  little  schemes  for  the  settle- 
ment of  her  Amelia,  so  also  had  our  beloved  but  unprotected  Rebecca 
determined  to  do  her  very  best  to  secure  the  husband,  who  was 
even  more  necessary  for  her  than  for  her  friend.  She  had  a  vivid 
imagination;  she  had,  besides,  read  the  Arabian  Nights  and 
Guthrie^ s  Geography ;  and  it  is  a  fact,  that  while  she  was  dress- 
ing for  dinner,  and  after  she  had  asked  Ameha  whether  her  brother 
was  very  rich,  she  had  built  for  herself  a  most  magnificent  castle 
in  the  air,  of  which  she  was  mistress,  with  a  husband  somewhere 
in  the  background  (she  had  not  seen  him  as  yet,  and  his  figure 
would  not  therefore  be  very  distinct) ;  she  had  arrayed  herself  in 
an  infinity  of  shawls,  turbans,  and  diamond  necklaces,  and  had 
mounted  upon  an  elephant  to  the  sound  of  the  march  in  Bluebeard, 
in  order  to  pay  a  visit  of  ceremony  to  the  Grand  Mogul.  Charming 
Alnaschar  visions !  it  is  the  happy  privilege  of  youth  to  construct 
you,  and  many  a  fanciful  young  creature  besides  Rebecca  Sharp  has 
indulged  in  these  delightfiil  day-dreams  ere  now ! 

Joseph  Sedley  was  twelve  years  older  than  his  sister  Amelia. 
He  was  in  the  East  India  Company's  Civil  Service,  and  his  name 
appeared,  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  in  the  Bengal  division 
of  the  East  India  Register,  as  collector  of  Boggley  WoUah,  an 
honourable  and  lucrative  post,  as  everybody  knows :  in  order  to 
know  to  what  higher  post  Joseph  rose  in  the  service,  the  reader 
is  referred  to  the  same  periodical. 

Boggley  WoUah  is  situated  in  a  fine,  lonely,  marshy,  jungly  dis- 
trict, famous  for  snipe-shooting,  and  where  not  unfrequently  you 
may  flush  a  tiger.  Ramgimge,  where  there  is  a  magistrate,  is  only 
forty  miles  oflf,  and  there  is  a  cavalry  station  about  thirty  miles 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  19 

farther ;  so  Joseph  wrote  home  to  his  parents,  when  he  took  posses- 
sion of  his  coUectorship.  He  had  lived  for  about  eight  years  of  his 
life,  quite  alone,  at  this  charming  place,  scarcely  seeing  a  Christian 
face  except  twice  a  year,  when  the<  detachment  arrived  to  carry  oflF 
the  revenues  which  he  had  collected,  to  Calcutta. 

Luckily,  at  this  time  he  caught  a  liver  complaint,  for  the  cure  of 
which  he  returned  to  Europe,  and  which  was  the  source  of  great 
comfort  and  amusement  to  him  in  his  native  country.  He  did  not 
live  with  his  family  while  in  London,  but  had  lodgings  of  his  own, 

.  like  a  gay  yoimg  bachelor.  Before  he  went  to  India  he  was  too 
young  to  partake  of  the  delightful  pleasures  of  a  man  about  town, 
and  plunged  into  them  on  his  return  with  considerable  assiduity. 
He  drove  his  horses  in  the  Park;  he  dined  at  the  fashionable  taverns 
(for  the  Oriental  Club  was  not  as  yet  invented) ;  he  frequented  the 
theatres,  as  the  mode  was  in  those  days,  or  made  his  appearance  at 
the  opera,  laboriously  attired  in  tights  and  a  cocked  hat. 

On  returning  to  India,  and  ever  after,  he  used  to  talk  of  the 
pleasure  of  this  period  of  his  existence  with  great  enthusiasm,  and 
give  you  to  understand  that  he  and  Brummel  were  the  leading 

,  bucks  of  the  day.  But  he  was  as  lonely  here  as  in  his  jungle  at 
fi^j  Boggley  WoUah.  He  scarcely  knew  a  single  soul  in  the  metro- 
polis :  and  were  it  not  for  his  doctor,  and  the  society  of  his  blue- 
pill,  and  his  liver  complaint,  he  must  have  died  of  loneliness.  He 
was  lazy,  peevish,  and  a  bon-vivant ;  the  appearance  of  a  lady 
frightened  him  beyond  measure ;  hence  it  was  but  seldom  that  he 
joined  the  paternal  circle  in  Russell  Square,  where  there  was  plenty  of 
gaiety,  and  where  the  jokes  of  his  good-natured  old  father  frightened 
his  amour-propre.  His  bulk  caused  Joseph  much  anxious  thought 
and  alarm ;  now  and  then  he  would  make  a  desperate  attempt  to 
get  rid  of  his  superabundant  fat ;  but  his  indolence  and  love  of  good 
living  speedily  got  the  better  of  these  endeavours  at  reform,  and  he 
found  himself  again  at  his  three  meals  a  day.  He  never  was  well 
dressed ;  but  he  took  the  hugest  pains  to  adorn  his  big  person,  and 
passed  many  hours  daily  in  that  occupation.  His  valet  made  a 
fortune  out  of  his  wardrobe :  his  toilet-table  was  covered  with  as 
many  pomatums  and  essences  as  ever  were  employed  by  an  old 
beauty :  he  had  tried,  in  order  to  give  himself  a  waist,  every  girth, 
stay,  and  waistband  then  invented.  Like  most  fat  men,  he  would 
have  his  clothes  made  too  tight,  and  took  care  they  should  be  of  the 
most  brilliant  colours  and  youthful  cut.  When  dressed  at  length, 
in  the  afternoon,  he  would  issue  forth  to  take  a  drive  with  nobody 
in  the  Park ;  and  then  would  come  back  in  order  to  dress  again  and 
go  and  dine  with  nobody  at  the  Piazza  Coffee-House.  He  was  as 
vain  as  a  girl ;  and  perhaps  his  extreme  shyness  was  one  of  the 


lo  VANITY    FAIR 

I  results  of  his  extreme  vanity.  If  Miss  Rebecca  can  get  the  better 
of  him,  and  at  her  first  entrance  into  life,  she  is  a  young  person  of 
no  ordinary  cleverness. 

The  first  move  showed  considerable  skill.  When  she  called 
Sedley  a  very  handsome  man,  she  knew  that  Amelia  would  tell  her 
mother,  who  would  probably  tell  Joseph,  or  who,  at  any  rate,  would 
be  pleased  by  the  compliment  paid  to  her  son.  All  mothers  are.  If 
you  had  told  Sycorax  that  her  son  Caliban  was  as  handsome  as 
Apollo,  she  would  have  been  pleased,  witch  as  she  was.  Perhaps, 
too,  Joseph  Sedley  would  overhear  the  compliment — Rebecca  spoke 
loud  enough — and  he  did  hear,  and  (thinking  in  his  heart  that  he 
was  a  very  fine  man)  the  praise  thrilled  through  every  fibre  of  his 
big  body,  and  made  it  tingle  with  pleasure.  Then,  however,  came  a 
recoil.  "  Is  the  girl  making  fun  of  me  % "  he  thought,  and  straight- 
way he  bounced  towards  the  bell,  and  was  for  retreating,  as  we  have 
seen,  when  his  father's  jokes  and  his  mother's  entreaties  caused  him 
to  pause  and  stay  where  he  was.  He  conducted  the  young  lady 
down  to  dinner  in  a  dubious  and  agitated  frame  of  mind.  "  Does 
she  really  think  I  am  handsome?"  thought  he,  "or  is  she  only 
making  game  of  me  1 "  We  have  talked  of  Joseph  Sedley  being  as 
vain  as  a  girl.  Heaven  help  us !  the  girls  have  only  to  turn  the 
tables,  and  say  of  one  of  their  own  sex,  "  She  is  as  vain  as  a  man," 
and  they  will  have  perfect  reason.  The  bearded  creatures  are  quite 
as  eager  for  praise,  quite  as  finikin  over  their  toilettes,  quite  as  proud 
of  their  personal  advantages,  quite  as  conscious  of  their  powers  of 
fascination,  as  any  coquette  in  the  world. 

Downstairs,  then,  they  went,  Joseph  very  red  and  blushing, 
Rebecca  very  modest,  and  holding  her  green  eyes  downwards.  She 
was  dressed  in  white,  with  bare  shoulders  as  white  as  snow — the 
picture  of  youth,  unprotected  innocence,  and  humble  virgin  sim- 
plicity. "I  must  be  very  quiet,"  thought  Rebecca,  "and  very 
much  interested  about  India." 

Now  we  have  heard  how  Mrs.  Sedley  had  prepared  a  fine  curry 
for  her  son,  just  as  he  liked  it,  and  in  the  course  of  dinner  a  portion 
of  this  dish  was  offered  to  Rebecca.  "  What  is  it  1 "  said  she,  turn- 
ing an  appealing  look  to  Mr.  Joseph. 

"  Capital,"  said  he.  His  mouth  was  full  of  it ;  his  face  quite 
red  with  the  delightful  exercise  of  gobbling.  "  Mother,  it's  as  good 
as  my  own  curries  in  India." 

"Oh,  I  must  try  some,  if  it  is  an  Indian  dish,"  said  Miss 
Rebecca.  "  I  am  sure  everything  must  be  good  that  comes  fi-om 
there." 

"Give  Miss  Sharp  some  curry,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Sedley, 
laughing. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  21 

Rebecca  had  never  tasted  the  dish  before. 

"Do  you  find  it  as  good  as  everything  else  from  India?"  said 
Mr.  Sedley. 

"  Oh,  excellent ! "  said  Rebecca,  who  was  sufifering  tortures  with 
the  cayenne  pepper. 

"  Try  a  chili  with  it.  Miss  Sharp,"  said  Joseph,  really  interested. 

"  A  chili,"  said  Rebecca,  gasping.  "  Oh  yes  !  "  She  thought  a 
chili  was  something  cool,  as  its  name  imported,  and  was  served  with 
some.  "  How  fresh  and  green  they  look,"  she  said,  and  put  one  into 
her  mouth.  It  was  hotter  than  the  ciury ;  flesh  and  blood  could  bear 
it  no  longer.  She  laid  down  her  fork.  "  Water,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
water  ! "  she  cried.  Mr.  Sedley  burst  out  laughing  (he  was  a  coarse 
man,  irom  the  Stock  Exchange,  where  they  love  all  sorts  of  practi- 
^ITokes).  "  They  are  real  Indian,  I  assure  you,"  said  he.  "  Sambo, 
^e  Miss  Sharp  some  water." 

The  paternal  laugh  was  echoed  by  Joseph,  who  thought  the 
joke  capital.  The  ladies  only  smiled  a  little.  They  thought  poor 
Rebecca  suffered  too  much.  She  would  have  liked  to  choke  old 
Sedley,  but  she  swallowed  her  mortification  as  well  as  she  had  the 
abominable  curry  before  it,  and  as  soon  as  she  could  speak,  said, 
with  a  comical,  good-humoured  air — 

"  I  ought  to  have  remembered  the  pepper  which  the  Princess  of 
Persia  puts  in  the  cream-tarts  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  Do  you  put 
cayenne  into  your  cream-tarts  in  India,  sir  ? " 

Old  Sedley  began  to  laugh,  and  thought  Rebecca  was  a  good- 
humoured  girl.  Joseph  simply  said,  "Cream-tarts,  Miss?  Our 
cream  is  very  bad  in  Bengal.  We  generally  use  goats'  milk ;  and, 
'gad,  do  you  know,  I've  got  to  prefer  it !  " 

"  You  won't  like  everything  from  India  now.  Miss  Sharp,"  said]  ^  (a^-w, 
the  old  gentleman ;  but  when  the  ladies  had  retired  after  dinner,  \ 
the  wily  old  fellow  said  to  his  son,  "Have  a  care,  Joe;  that  girl  isj^ 
setting  her  cap  at  you."  ' 

"  Pooh  !  nonsense  ! "  said  Joe,  highly  flattered.  "  I  recollect, 
sir,  there  was  a  girl  at  Dumdum,  a  daughter  of  Cutler  of  the 
Artillery,  and  afterwards  married  to  Lance,  the  surgeon,  who  made 
a  dead  set  at  me  in  the  year  '4 — at  me  and  Mulligatawney,  whom 
I  mentioned  to  you  before  dinner — a  devilish  good  fellow  Mulli- 
gatawney— he's  a  magistrate  at  Budgebudge,  and  siure  to  be  in 
council  in  five  years.  Well,  sir,  the  Artillery  gave  a  ball,  and 
Quintin,  of  the  King's  14th,  said  to  me,  'Sedley,'  said  he,  *I  bet 
you  thirteen  to  ten  that  Sophy  Cutler  hooks  either  you  or  Mulli- 
gatawney before  the  rains.'  'Done,'  says  I;  and  egad,  sir — this 
claret's  very  good.     Aflamson's  or  Carbonell's  ? "  .  .  . 

A  slight  snore  was  the  only  reply :  the  honest  stock-broker  was 

0 


22  VANITY    FAIR 

asleep,  and  so  the  rest  of  Joseph's  story  was  lost  for  that  day.  But 
he  was  always  exceedingly  communicative  in  a  man's  party,  and  has 
told  this  delightful  tale  many  scores  of  times  to  his  apothecary,  Dr. 
Gollop,  when  he  came  to  inquire  about  the  liver  and  the  blue-pill. 

Being  an  invalid,  Joseph  Sedley  contented  himself  with  a  bottle 
of  claret  besides  his  Madeira  at  dinner,  and  he  managed  a  couple  of 
plates  full  of  strawberries  and  cream,  and  twenty-four  little  rout  cakes, 
that  were  lying  neglected  in  a  plate  near  him,  and  certainly  (for 
novelists  have  the  privilege  of  knowing  everything),  he  thought  a 
great  deal  about  the  girl  upstairs.  "  A  nice,  gay,  merry  young 
creature,"  thought  he  to  himself.  "  How  she  looked  at  me  when  I 
picked  up  her  handkerchief  at  dinner  !  She  dropped  it  twice.  Who's 
that  singing  in  the  drawing-room  ?     'Gad  !  shall  I  go  up  and  see  1 " 

But  his  modesty  came  rushing  upon  him  with  uncontrollable  force. 
His  father  was  asleep  :  his  hat  was  in  the  hall :  there  was  a  hackney- 
coach  stand  hard  by  in  Southampton  Row.  "  I'll  go  and  see  the 
Forty  Thieves"  said  he,  "and  Miss  Decamp's  Dance;"  and  he 
slipped  away  gently  on  the  pointed  toes  of  his  boots,  and  disappeared, 
without  waking  his  worthy  parent. 

"There  goes  Joseph,"  said  Amelia,  who  was  looking  from  the 
open  windows  of  the  drawing-room,  while  Rebecca  was  singing  at 
the  piano. 

"Miss  Sharp  has  frightened  him  away,"  said  Mrs.  Sedley. 
"  Poor  Joe,  why  will  he  be  so  shy  1 " 


J" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  GREEN   SILK  PURSE 


POOR  Joe'^  panic  lasted  for  two  or  three  days ;  during  which  he 
did  not  visit  the  house,  nor  during  that  period  did  Miss  Rebecca 
ever  mention  his  name.  She  was  all  respectM  gratitude  to  Mrs. 
Sedley ;  delighted  beyond  measure  at  the  Bazaars ;  and  in  a  whirl 
of  wonder  at  the  theatre,  whither  the  good-natured  lady  took  her. 
One  day  Amelia  had  a  headache,  and  could  not  go  upon  some  party 
of  pleasure  to  which  the  two  young  people  were  invited :  nothing 
could  induce  her  friend  to  go  without  her.  "  What !  you  who  have 
shown  the  poor  orphan  what  happiness  and  love  are  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life — quit  you  ?  never  ! "  and  the  green  eyes  looked  up  to 
heaven  and  filled  with  tears;  and  Mrs.  Sedley  could  not  but  own 
that  her  daughter's  friend  had  a  charming  kind  heart  of  her  own. 

As  for  Mr.  Sedley 's  jokes,  Rebecca  laughed  at  them  with  a  cor- 
diality and  perseverance  which  not  a  little  pleased  and  softened  that 
good-natured  gentleman.  Nor  was  it  with  the  chiefs  of  the  family 
alone  that  Miss  Sharp  found  favour.  She  interested  Mrs.  Blenkinsop 
by  evincing  the  deepest  sympathy  in  the  raspberry-jam  preserving, 
which  operation  was  then  going  on  in  the  Housekeeper's  room ;  she 
persisted  in  calling  Sambo  "  Sir,"  and  "  Mr.  Sambo,"  to  the  delight 
of  that  attendant ;  and  she  apologised  to  the  lady's  maid  for  giving 
her  trouble  in  venturing  to  ring  the  bell,  with  such  sweetness  and 
humility,  that  the  Servants'  Hall  was  almost  as  charmed  with  her 
as  the  Drawing-room. 

Once,  in  looking  over  some  drawings  which  Amelia  had  sent 
from  school,  Rebecca  suddenly  came  upon  one  which  caused  her  to 
burst  into  tears  and  leave  the  room.  It  was  on  the  day  when  Joe 
Sedley  made  his  second  appearance. 

AmeUa  hastened  after  her  friend  to  know  the  cause  of  this  dis- 
play of  feeling,  and  the  good-natured  girl  came  back  without  her 
companion,  rather  affected  too.  "  You  know,  her  father  was  our 
drawing-master.  Mamma,  at  Ohiswick,  and  used  to  do  all  the  best 
parts  of  our  drawings." 

"  My  love  !  I'm  sure  I  always  heard  Miss  Pinkerton  say  that  he 
did  not  touch  them — he  only  mounted  them," 


24  VANITY    FAIR 

"It  was  called  mounting,  Mamma.  Rebecca  remembers  the 
drawing,  and  her  father  working  at  it,  and  the  thought  of  it  came 
upon  her  rather  suddenly — and  so,  you  know,  she " 

"  The  poor  child  is  all  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Sedley. 

"  I  wish  she  could  stay  with  us  another  week,"  said  Amelia. 

"  She's  devilish  like  Miss  Cutler  that  I  used  to  meet  at  Dumdum, 
only  fairer.  She's  married  now  to  Lance,  the  Artillery  Surgeon. 
Do  you  know.  Ma'am,  that  once  Quintin,  of  the  14th,  bet  me " 

"0  Joseph,  we  know  that  story,"  said  Amelia,  laughing. 
"  Never  mind  about  telling  that ;  but  persuade  Mamma  to  write  to 
Sir  Something  Crawley  for  leave  of  absence  for  poor  dear  Rebecca : — 
here  she  comes,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping." 

"  I'm  better,  now,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  sweetest  smile  possible, 
taking  good-natured  Mrs.  Sedley's  extended  hand  and  kissing  it 
respectfully.  "  How  kind  you  all  are  to  me !  All,"  she  added, 
with  a  laugh,  "  except  you,  Mr.  Joseph." 

"  Me  !  "  said  Joseph,  meditating  an  instant  departure.  "  Gracious 
Heavens  !     Good  Gad  !     Miss  Sharp  ! " 

"  Yes ;  how  could  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  make  me  eat  that  horrid 
pepper-dish  at  dinner,  the  first  day  I  ever  saw  you  ?  You  are  not 
so  good  to  me  as  dear  Amelia." 

"  He  doesn't  know  you  so  well,"  cried  Amelia. 

"  I  defy  anybody  not  to  be  good  to  you,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother. 

"  The  curry  was  capital ;  indeed  it  was,"  said  Joe,  quite  gravely. 
"  Perhaps  there  was  not  enough  citron  juice  in  it ; — no,  there  was  not." 

"And  the  chilis?" 

"  By  Jove,  how  they  made  you  cry  out !  "  said  Joe,  caught  by 
the  ridicule  of  the  circumstance,  and  exploding  in  a  fit  of  laughter 
which  ended  quite  suddenly,  as  usual. 

"  I  shall  take  care  how  I  let  you  choose  for  me  another  time," 
said  Rebecca,  as  they  went  down  again  to  dinner.  "  I  didn't  think 
men  were  fond  of  putting  poor  harmless  girls  to  pain." 

"By  Gad,  Miss  Rebecca,  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  the  world." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  know  you  wouldn't ; "  and  then  she  gave 
him  ever  so  gentle  a  pressure  with  her  little  hand,  and  drev/  it  back 
quite  frightened,  and  looked  first  for  one  instant  in  his  face,  and 
then  down  at  the  carpet-rods;  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that 
Joe's  heart  did  not  thump  at  this  little  involuntary,  timid,  gentle 
motion  of  regard  on  the  part  of  the  simple  girl. 

It  was  an  advance,  and  as  such,  perhaps,  some  ladies  of  indis- 

'putable  correctness  and  gentility  will  condemn  the  action  as  im- 

I  modest ;  but,  you  see,  poor  dear  Rebecca  had  all  this  work  to  do 

for  herself.     If  a  person  is  too  poor  to  keep  a  servant,  though  ever 

so  elegant,  he  must  sweep  his  own  rooms :  if  a  dear  girl  has  no  dear 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  25 

Mamma  to  settle  matters  with  the  young  man,  she  must  do  it  for 
herself.  And  oh,  what  a  mercy  it  is  that  these  women  do  not  exer- 
cise their  powers  oftener !  We  can't  resist  them,  if  they  do.  Let 
them  show  ever  so  little  inclination^^nd  men  go  down  on  their  knees 
at  once :  old  or  ugly,  it  is  all  the  same.  And  this  I  set  down  as  a 
positive  truth.  A  woman  with  fair  opportunities,  and  without  an 
absolute  hump,  may  marry  whom  she  likes.  Only  let  us  be  thank- 
ful that  the  darlings  are  like  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  don't  know  j 
their  own  power.     They  would  overcome  us  entirely  if  they  did.       } 

"Egad ! "  thought  Joseph,  entering  the  dining-room,  " I  exactly 
begin  to  feel  as  I  did  at  Dumdum  with  Miss  Cutler."  Many  sweet 
little  appeals,  half  tender,  half  jocular,  did  Miss  Sharp  make  to  him 
about  the  dishes  at  dinner ;  for  by  this  time  she  was  on  a  footing  of 
considerable  familiarity  with  the  family,  and  as  for  the  girls,  they 
loved  each  other  like  sisters.  Young  unmarried  girls  always  do,  if 
they  are  in  a  house  together  for  ten  days. 

As  if  bent  upon  advancing  Rebecca's  plans  in  every  way — what 
must  Amelia  do,  but  remind  her  brother  of  a  promise  made  last 
Easter  holidays — "  When  I  was  a  girl  at  school,"  said  she,  laughing 
— a  promise  that  he,  Joseph,  would  take  her  to  Vauxhall.  "  Now," 
she  said,  "  that  Rebecca  is  with  us,  will  be  the  very  time." 

"  Oh,  delightful !  "  said  Rebecca,  going  to  clap  her  hands ;  but  she 
recollected  herself,  and  paused,  like  a  modest  creature,  as  she  was. 

"  To-night  is  not  the  night,"  said  Joe. 

"Well,  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  your  Papa  and  I  dine  out,"  said  Mrs.  Sedley. 

"You  don't  suppose  that  /'m  going,  Mrs.  Sed.  1"  said  her 
husband,  "and  that  a  woman  of  your  years  and  size  is  to  catch 
cold,  in  such  an  abominable  damp  place  1 " 

"The  children  must  have  some  one  with  them,"  cried  Mrs. 
Sedley. 

"  Let  Joe  go,"  said  his  father,  laughing.  "  He's  big  enough." 
At  which  speech  even  Mr.  Sambo  at  the  sideboard  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  poor  fat  Joe  felt  inclined  to  become  a  parricide  almost, 

"  Undo  his  stays ! "  continued  the  pitiless  old  gentleman. 
"  Fling  some  water  in  his  face.  Miss  Sharp,  or  carry  him  upstairs : 
the  dear  creature's  fainting.  Poor  victim !  carry  him  up ;  he's  as 
light  as  a  feather." 

"  If  I  stand  this,  sir,  I'm  d ! "  roared  Joseph. 

"  Order  Mr.  Jos's  elephant.  Sambo  ! "  cried  the  father.  "  Send 
to  Exeter  'Change,  Sambo;"  but  seeing  Jos  ready  almost  to  cry 
with  vexation,  the  old  joker  stopped  his  laughter,  and  said,  holding 
out  his  hand  to  his  son,  "  It's  all  fair  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  Jos,— 
and.  Sambo,  never  mind  the  elephant,  but  give  me  and  Mr.  Jos  a 
5 


i6  VANITY    FAIR 

glass  of  champagne.  Boney  himself  hasn't  got  such  in  his  cellar, 
my  boy ! " 

A  goblet  of  champagne  restored  Joseph's  equanimity,  and  before 
the  bottle  was  emptied,  of  which  as  an  invalid  he  took  two- thirds, 
he  had  agreed  to  take  the  young  ladies  to  Vauxhall. 

"  The  girls  must  have  a  gentleman  apiece,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man. "  Jos  will  be  sure  to  leave  Emmy  in  the  crowd,  he  will  ht 
so  taken  up  with  Miss  Sharp  here.  Send  to  96,  and  ask  George 
Osborne  if  he'll  come." 

At  this,  I  don't  know  in  the  least  for  what  reason,  Mrs.  Sedley 
looked  at  her  husband  and  laughed.  Mr.  Sedley's  eyes  twinkled 
in  a  manner  indescribably  roguish,  and  he  looked  at  Amelia ;  and 
Amelia,  hanging  down  her  head,  blushed  as  only  young  ladies  of 
seventeen  know  how  to  blush,  and  as  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  never 
blushed  in  her  life — at  least  not  since  she  was  eight  years  old,  and 
when  she  was  caught  stealing  jam  out  of  a  cupboard  by  her  god- 
mother. "  Amelia  had  better  write  a  note,"  said  her  father ;  "  and 
let  George  Osborne  see  what  a  beautiful  hand-writing  we  have  brought 
back  from  Miss  Pinkerton's.  Do  you  remember  when  you  wrote  to  him 
to  come  on  Twelfth-night,  Emmy,  and  spelt  twelfth  without  the  fV 

"  That  was  years  ago,"  said  Amelia. 

"  It  seems  like  yesterday,  don't  it,  John  ? "  said  Mrs.  Sedley  to 
her  husband ;  and  that  night  in  a  conversation  which  took  place  in  a 
front  room  in  the  second-floor,  in  a  sort  of  tent,  hung  round  with 
chintz  of  a  rich  and  fantastic  India  pattern,  and  double  with  calico  of 
a  tender  rose-colour ;  in  the  interior  of  which  species  of  marquee  was 
a  feather-bed,  on  which  were  two  pillows,  on  which  were  two  round 
red  faces,  one  in  a  laced  nightcap,  and  one  in  a  simple  cotton  one, 
ending  in  a  tassel : — in  a  curtain  lecture,  I  say,  Mrs.  Sedley  took  her 
husband  to  task  for  his  cruel  conduct  to  poor  Joe. 

"  It  was  quite  wicked  of  you,  Mr.  Sedley,"  said  she,  "  to  torment 
the  poor  boy  so." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  cotton-tassel  indefence  of  his  conduct,  "  Jos 
is  a  great  deal  vainer  than  you  ever  were  in  your  life,  and  that's  say- 
ing a  good  deal.  Though,  some  thirty  years  ago,  in  the  year  seventeen 
himdred  and  eighty — what  was  it  ? — perhaps  you  had  a  right  to  be 
vain. — I  don't  say  no.  But  I've  no  patience  with  Jos  and  his  dandi- 
fied modesty.  It  is  out-Josephing  Joseph,  my  dear,  and  aU  the  while 
the  boy  is  only  thinking  of  himself,  and  what  a  fine  fellow  he  is.  I 
doubt,  Ma'am,  we  shall  have  some  trouble  with  him  yet.  Here  is 
Emmy's  little  friend  making  love  to  him  as  hard  as  she  can ;  that's 
quite  clear ;  and  if  she  does  not  catch  him  some  other  will.  That 
man  is  destined  to  be  a  prey  to  woman,  as  I  am  to  go  on  'Change 
every  day.     It's  a  mercy  he  did  not  bri     us  over  a  black  daughter- 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  ^7 

in-law,  my  dear.     But,  mark  my  words,  the  first  woman  who  fishes 
for  him,  hooks  him." 

"  She  shall  go  off  to-morrow,  the  little  artful  creature,"  said  Mrs. 
Sedley,  with  great  energy.  ^ 

"  Why  not  she  as  well  as  another,  Mrs.  Sedley  ?  The  girl's  a 
white  face  at  any  rate.  /  don't  care  who  marries  him.  Let  Joe 
please  himself." 

And  presently  the  voices  of  the  two  speakers  were  hushed,  or 
were  replaced  by  the  gentle  but  unromantic  music  of  the  nose ;  and 
save  when  the  church  bells  tolled  the  hour  and  the  watchman  called 
it,  all  was  silent  at  the  house  of  John  Sedley,  Esquire,  of  Russell 
Square,  and  the  Stock  Exchange. 

When  morning  came,  the  good-natured  Mrs.  Sedley  no  longer 
thought  of  executing  her  threats  with  regard  to  Miss  Sharp ;  for 
though  nothing  is  more  keen,  nor  more  common,  nor  more  justifiable, 
than  maternal  jealousy,  yet  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  suppose 
that  tEeTittie,"iramtte,  grateful,  gentle  governess  would  dare  to  look 
up  to  such  a  magnificent  personage  as  the  Collector  of  Boggley 
WoUah.  The  petition,  too,  for  an  extension  of  the  young  lady's 
leave  of  absence  had  already  been  despatched,  and  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  a  pretext  for  abruptly  dismissing  her. 

And  as  if  aU  things  conspired  in  favour  of  the  gentle  Rebecca, 
the  very  elements  (although  she  was  not  inclined  at  first  to  acknow- 
ledge their  action  in  her  behalf)  interposed  to  aid  her.  For  on  the 
evening  appointed  for  the  Vauxhall  party,  George  Osborne  having 
come  to  dinner,  and  the  elders  of  the  house  having  departed,  accord- 
ing to  invitation,  to  dine  with  Alderman  Balls,  at  Highbury  Bam, 
there  came  on  such  a  thunder-storm  as  only  happens  on  Vauxhall 
nights,  and  as  obliged  the  young  people,  perforce,  to  remain  at  home. 
Mr.  Osborne  did  not  seem  in  the  least  disappointed  at  this  occur- 
rence. He  and  Joseph  Sedley  drank  a  fitting  quantity  of  port-wine, 
tete-a-tete^  in  the  dining-room, — during  the  drinking  of  which  Sedley 
told  a  number  of  his  best  Indian  stories ;  for  he  was  extremely  talka- 
tive in  man's  society ; — and  afterwards  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  did  the 
honours  of  the  drawing-room ;  and  these  four  young  persons  passed  '^ 
such  a  comfortable  evening  together,  that  they  declared  they  weref 
rather  glad  of  the  thunder-storm  than  otherwise,  which  had  caused  j 
them  to  put  off  their  visit  to  VauxhaU. 

Osborne  was  Sedley's  godson,^":^and  had  been  one  of  the  femily 
any  time  these  three-and-twenty  years.  At  six  weeks  old,  he  had 
received  from  John  Sedley  a  present  of  a  silver  cup ;  at  six  months 
old,  a  coral  with  gold  whistle  and  beUs ;  from  his  youth,  upwards, 
he  was  "  tipped  "  regularly  by  the  old  gentleman  at  Christmas  :  anti 
on  going  back  to  school,  he  remembered  perfectly  well  being  thrashed 


28  VANITY    FAIR 

by  Joseph  Sedley,  when  the  latter  was  a  big,  swaggering  hobbadyhoy, 
and  George  an  impudent  urchin  of  ten  years  old.  In  a  word,  George 
was  as  familiar  with  the  family  as  such  daily  acts  of  kindness  and 
intercourse  could  make  him. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Sedley,  what  a  fury  you  were  in,  when  I 
cut  off  the  tassels  of  your  Hessian  boots,  and  how  Miss — hem ! — 
how  Amelia  rescued  me  from  a  beating,  by  falUng  down  on  her  knees 
and  crying  out  to  her  brother  Jos,  not  to  beat  little  George  ? " 

Jos  remembered  this  remarkable  circumstance  perfectly  well,  but 
vowed  that  he  had  totally  forgotten  it. 

"  "Well,  do  you  remember  coming  down  in  a  gig  to  Dr.  Swishtail's 
to  see  me,  before  you  went  to  India,  and  giving  me  half  a  guinea  and 
a  pat  on  the  head?  I  always  had  an  idea  that  you  were  at  least 
seven  feet  high,  and  was  quite  astonished  at  your  return  from  India 
to  find  you  no  taller  than  myself." 

"  How  good  of  Mr.  Sedley  to  go  to  your  school  and  give  you  the 
money  !  "  exclaimed  Rebecca,  in  accents  of  extreme  delight. 

"  Yes,  and  after  I  had  cut  the  tassels  of  his  boots  too.  Boys 
never  forget  those  tips  at  school,  nor  the  givers." 

"I  delight  in  Hessian  boots,"  said  Rebecca.  Jos  Sedley,  who 
admired  his  own  legs  prodigiously,  and  always  wore  this  ornamental 
chaussure,  was  extremely  pleased  at  this  remark,  though  he  drew 
his  legs  under  his  chair  as  it  was  made. 

"  Miss  Sharp  ! "  said  George  Osborne,  "  you  who  are  so  clever 

an  artist,  you  must  make  a  grand  historical  picture  of  the  scene  of 

' ..      the  boots.     Sedley  shall  be  represented  in  buckskins,  and  holding 

,f^     1  one  of  the  injured  boots  in  one  hand ;  by  the  other  he  shall  have 

'  hold  of  my  shirt-friU.     Amelia  shall  be  kneeling  near  him,  with  her 

little  hands  up  ;  and  the  picture  shall  have  a  grand  allegorical  title, 

as  the  frontispieces  have  in  the  Medulla  and  the  spelling-book." 

"  I  shan't  have  time  to  do  it  here,"  said  Rebecca.  "  I'll  do  it 
when — when  I'm  gone."  And  she  dropped  her  voice,  and  looked  so 
sad  and  piteous,  that  everybody  felt  how  cruel  her  lot  was,  and  how 
sorry  they  would  be  to  part  with  her. 

"  Oh  that  you  could  stay  longer,  dear  Rebecca,"  said  Amelia. 

**  Why  1 "  answered  the  other,  still  more  sadly.  '  "  That  I  may 
be  only  the  more  unhap — unwilling  to  lose  you  1 "  And  she  turned 
away  her  head.  AmeUa  began  to  give  way  to  that  natural  infirmity 
of  tears  which,  we  have  said,  was  one  of  the  defects  of  this  silly 
little  thing.  George  Osborne  looked  at  the  Jtwo  young  women  with 
a  touched  curiosity ;  and  Joseph  Sedley  heaved  something  very  like 
a  sigh  out  of  his  big  chest,  aJ3  he  cast  his  eyes  down  towards  his 
fevourite  Hessian  boots. 

"  Let  us  have  some  music,  Miss  Sedley — Amelia,"  said  George, 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  29 

who  felt  at  that  moment  an  extraordinary,  almost  irresistible  impulse 
to  seize  the  above-mentioned  young  woman  in  his  arms,  and  to 
kiss  her  in  the  face  of  the  company ;  and  she  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  and  if  I  should  say  that  fhey  fell  in  love  with  each  other/ 
at  that  single  instant  of  time,  I  should  perhaps  be  telling  an  untruth,! 
for  the  fact  is,  that  these  two  young  people  had  been  bred  up  by 
their  parents  for  this  very  purpose,  and  their  banns  had,  as  it  were, 
been  read  in  their  respective  families  any  time  these  ten  years. 
They  went  off  to  the  piano,  which  was  situated,  as  pianos  usually 
are,  in  the  back  drawing-room ;  and  as  it  was  rather  dark,  Miss 
Amelia,  in  the  most  unaffected  way  in  the  world,  put  her  hand  into  Mr. 
Osborne's,  who,  of  course,  could  see  the  way  among  the  chairs  and 
ottomans  a  great  deal  better  than  she  could.  But  this  arrangement 
left  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  tete-a-tete  with  Rebecca,  at  the  drawing-room 
table,  where  the  latter  was  occupied  in  knitting  a  green  silk  purse. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  ask  family  secrets,"  said  Miss  Sharp. 
"  Those  two  have  told  theirs." 

"  As  soon  as  he  gets  his  company,"  said  Joseph,  "  I  believe  the 
affair  is  settled.     George  Osborne  is  a  capital  fellow." 

"  And  your  sister  the  dearest  creature  in  the  world,"  said 
Rebecca.  "  Happy  the  man  who  wins  her  !  "  With  this,  Miss 
Sharp  gave  a  great  sigh. 

When  two  unmarried  persons  get  together,  and  talk  upon  such 
delicate  subjects  as  the  present,  a  great  deal  of  confidence  and 
intimacy  is  presently  established  between  them.  There  is  no  need 
of  giving  a  special  report  of  the  conversation  which  now  took  place 
between  Mr.  Sedley  and  the  young  lady ;  for  the  conversation,  as 
may  be  judged  from  the  foregoing  specimen,  was  not  especially  witty 
or  eloquent ;  it  seldom  is  in  private  societies,  or  anywhere  except  in 
very  high-flown  and  ingenious  novels.  As  there  was  music  in  the 
next  room,  the  talk  was  carried  on,  of  course,  in  a  low  and  becoming 
tone,  though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  the  couple  in  the  next  apart- 
ment would  not  have  been  disturbed  had  the  talking  been  ever  so 
loud,  so  occupied  were  they  with  their  own  pursuits. 

Almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Mr.  Sedley  found  himself 
talking,  without  the  least  timidity  or  hesitation,  to  a  person  of  the 
other  sex.  Miss  Rebecca  asked  him  a  great  number  of  questions 
about  India,  which  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  narrating  many 
interesting  anecdotes  about  that  country  and  himself  He  described 
the  balls  at  Government  House,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  kept 
themselves  cool  in  the  hot  weather,  with  punkahs,  tatties,  and  other 
contrivances ;  and  he  was  very  witty  regarding  the  number  of 
Scotchmen  whom  Lord  Minto,  the  Governor-General,  patronised  ; 
and  then  he  described  a  tiger-hunt ;  and  the  manner  in  which  the 

c* 


iO  VANITY    FAIR 

mahout  of  his  elephant  had  been  pulled  off  his  seat  by  one  of  the 
infuriated  animals.  How  delighted  Miss  Rebecca  was  at  the  Govern- 
ment balls,  and  how  she  laughed  at  the  stories  of  the  Scotch  aides- 
de-camp,  and  called  Mr.  Sedley  a  sad  wicked  satirical  creature  ;  and 
how  frightened  she  was  at  the  story  of  the  elephant !  "  For  your 
mother's  sake,  dear  Mr.  Sedley,"  she  said,  "  for  the  sake  of  all  your 
friends,  promise  never  to  go  on  one  of  those  horrid  expeditions." 

"  Pooh,  pooh.  Miss  Sharp,"  said  he,  pulling  up  his  shirt-coUais ; 
"  the  danger  makes  the  sport  only  the  pleasanter."  He  had  never 
been  but^once  at  a  tiger-hunt,  when  the  accident  in  question  occurred, 
and  when  he  was  half  killed — not  by  the  tiger,  but  by  the  fright. 
And  as  he  talked  on,  he  grew  quite  bold,  and  actually  had  the  auda- 
city to  ask  Miss  Rebecca  for  whom  she  was  knitting  the  green  silk 
purse  ?  He  was  quite  surprised  and  delighted  at  his  own  graceful 
familiar  manner. 

"  For  any  one  who  wants  a  purse,"  replied  Miss  Rebecca,  looking 
at  him  in  the  most  gentle  winning  way.  Sedley  was  going  to  make 
one  of  the  most  eloquent  speeches  possible,  and  had  begun — "  0  Miss 

Sharp,  how "  when  some  song  which  was  performed  in  the  other 

room  came  to  an  end,  and  caused  him  to  hear  his  own  voice  so  dis- 
tinctly that  he  stopped,  blushed,  and  blew  his  nose  in  great  agitation. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  your  brother's  eloquence  1 " 
whispered  Mr.  Osborne  to  Amelia.  "  Why,  your  friend  has  worked 
miracles." 

"  The  more  the  better,"  said  Miss  Ameha ;  who,  like  almost  all 
women  who  are  worth  a  pin,  was  a  match-maker  in  her  heart,  and 
would  have  been  delighted  that  Joseph  should  carry  back  a  wife  to 
India.  She  had,  too,  in  the  course  of  this  few  days'  constant  inter- 
course, warmed  into  a  most  tender  friendship  for  Rebecca,  and  dis- 
covered a  million  of  virtues  and  amiable  qualities  in  her  which  she 
had  not  perceived  when  they  were  at  Chiswick  together.  For  the 
affection  of  young  ladies  is  of  as  rapid  growth  as  Jack's  bean-stalk, 
and  reaches  up  to  the  sky  in  a  night.  It  is  no  blame  to  them  that 
after  marriage  this  Sehnsucht  nack  der  Liehe  subsides.  It  is  what 
sentimentalists,  who  deal  in  very  big  words,  call  a  yearning  after  the 
Ideal,  and  simply  means  that  women  are  commonly  not  satisfied  until 
they  have  husbands  and  children  on  whom  they  may  centre  affections, 
which  are  spent  elsewhere,  as  it  were,  in  small  change. 

Having  expended  her  little  store  of  songs,  or  having  stayed  long 
enough  in  the  back  drawing-room,  it  now  appeared  proper  to  Miss 
Amelia  to  ask  her  friend  to  sing.  "  You  would  not  have  listened 
to  me,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Osborne  (though  she  knew  she  was  telling  a 
fib),  "  had  you  heard  Rebecca  first." 

"I  ^ve  Miss  Sharp  warning,  though,"  said  Osborne,   "that. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  31 

right  or  wrong,  I  consider  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  the  first  singer  in 
the  world." 

"  You  shall  hear,"  said  Amelia ;  and  Joseph  Sedley  was  actually 
polite  enough  to  carry  the  candles^to  the  piano.  Osborne  hinted 
that  he  should  like  quite  as  well  to  sit  in  the  dark ;  but  Miss  Sedley, 
laughing,  declined  to  bear  him  company  any  farther,  and  the  two 
accordingly  followed  Mr.  Joseph.  Rebecca  sang  far  better  than  her 
friend  (though  of  course  Osborne  was  free  to  keep  his  opinion),  and 
exerted  herself  to  the  utmost,  and,  indeed,  to  the  wonder  of  Amelia, 
who  had  never  known  her  perform  so  well.  She  sang  a  French  song, 
which  Joseph  did  not  understand  in  the  least,  and  which  George  con- 
fessed he  did  not  understand,  and  then  a  number  of  those  simple 
ballads  which  were  the  fashion  forty  years  ago,  and  in  which  British 
tars,  our  King,  poor  Susan,  blue-eyed  Mary,  and  the  like,  were  the 
principal  themes.  They  are  not,  it  is  said,  very  brilliant,  in  a  musi- 
cal point  of  view,  but  contain  numberless  good-natured,  simple  appeals 
to  the  affections,  which  people  understood  better  than  the  milk-and-  \  ^  cM 
water  lagrime,  sospiriy  and  felicita  of  the  eternal  Donizettian  music  /  "^  ' 
with  which  we  are  favoured  nowadays.  ^    ^  [a^J^ 

Conversation  of  a  sentimental  sort,  befitting  the  subject,  was      k  f^ 
carried  on  between  the  songs,  to  which  Sambo,  after  he  had  brought 
the  tea,  the  delighted  cook,  and  even  Mrs.  Blenkinsop,  the  house- 
keeper, condescended  to  listen  on  the  landing-place. 

Among  these  ditties  was  one,  the  last  of  the  concert,  and  to  the 
following  effect : — 

Ah  !  bleak  and  barren  was  the  moor, 

Ah  !  loud  and  piercing  was  the  storm, 
The  cottage  roof  was  shelter'd  sure, 

The  cottage  hearth  was  bright  and  warm— 
An  orphan  boy  the  lattice  pass'd, 

And,  as  he  mark'd  its  cheerful  glow, 
Felt  doubly  keen  the  midnight  blast, 

And  doubly  cold  the  fallen  snow. 

They  mark'd  him  as  he  onward  prest, 

With  fainting  heart  and  weary  limb : 
Kind  voices  bade  him  turn  and  rest, 

And  gentle  faces  welcomed  him. 
The  dawn  is  up — the  guest  is  gone, 

The  cottage  hearth  is  blazing  still ; 
Heaven  pity  all  poor  wanderers  lone  ! 

Hark  to  the  wind  upon  the  hill ! 

It  waB  the  sentiment  of  the  before-mentioned  words,  "When 
I'm  gone,"  over  again.  As  she  came  to  the  last  words,  Miss  Sharp's 
"deep-toned  voice  faltered."      Everybody  felt  the  allusion  to  her 


32  VANITY    FAIR 

departure,  and  to  her  hapless  orphan  state.  Joseph  Sedley,  who  was 
fond  of  music,  and  soft-hearted,  was  in  a  state  of  ravishment  during 
the  performance  of  the  song,  and  profoundly  touched  at  its  conclu- 
sion. If  he  had  had  the  courage ;  if  George  and  Miss  Sedley  had 
remained,  according  to  the  former's  proposal,  in  the  farther  room, 
Joseph  Sedley's  bachelorhood  would  have  been  at  an  end,  and  this 
work  would  never  have  been  written.  But  at  the  close  of  the  ditty, 
Rebecca  quitted  the  piano,  and  giving  her  hand  to  Amelia,  walked 
away  into  the  front  drawing-room  twilight ;  and,  at  this  moment, 
Mr.  Sambo  made  his  appearance  with  a  tray,  containing  sandwiches, 
jellies,  and  some  glittering  glasses  and  decanters,  on  which  Joseph 
Sedley's  attention  was  immediately  fixed.  When  the  parents  of  the 
house  of  Sedley  returned  from  their  dinner-party,  they  found  the 
young  people  so  busy  in  talking,  that  they  had  not  heard  the  arrival 
of  the  carriage,  and  Mr.  Joseph  was  in  the  act  of  saying,  "  My  dear 
Miss  Sharp,  one  little  teaspoonful  of  jelly  to  recruit  you  after  your 
immense — your — your  delightful  exertions." 

"  Bravo,  Jos ! "  said  Mr.  Sedley ;  on  hearing  the  bantering  of 
which  well-known  voice,  Jos  instantly  relapsed  into  an  alarmed 
silence,  and  quickly  took  his  departure.  He  did  not  lie  awake  all 
night  thinking  whether  or  not  he  was  in  love  with  Miss  Sharp ;  the 
passion  of  love  never  interfered  with  the  appetite  or  the  slumber  of 
Mr.  Joseph  Sedley;  but  he  thought  to  himself  how  delightful  it 
would  be  to  hear  such  songs  as  those  after  Cutcherry — what  a  dis- 
tingu^e  girl  she  was — how  she  could  speak  French  better  than  the 
Governor-General's  lady  herself — and  what  a  sensation  she  would 
make  at  the  Calcutta  balls.  "  It's  evident  the  poor  devil's  in  love 
with  me,"  thought  he.  "  She  is  just  as  rich  as  most  of  the  girls 
who  come  out  to  India.  I  might  go  farther,  and  fare  worse,  egad  ! " 
And  in  these  meditations  he  fell  asleep. 

How  Miss  Sharp  lay  awake,  thinking,  will  he  come  or  not  to- 
morrow 1  need  not  be  told  here.  To-morrow  came,  and,  as  sure  as 
fate,  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  made  his  appearance  before  luncheon. 
He  had  never  been  known  before  to  confer  such  an  honour  on 
Russell  Square.  George  Osborne  was  somehow  there  already 
(sadly  "putting  out"  Amelia,  who  was  writing  to  her  twelve 
dearest  friends  at  Chiswick  Mall),  and  Rebecca  was  employed  upon 
her  yesterday's  work.  As  Joe's  buggy  drove  up,  and  while,  after 
his  usual  thundering  knock  and  pompous  bustle  at  the  door,  the 
ex-Collector  of  Boggley  WoUah  laboured  upstairs  to  the  drawing- 
room,  knowing  glances  were  telegraphed  between  Osborne  and  Miss 
Sedley,  and  the  pair,  smiling  archly,  looked  at  Rebecca,  who 
actually  blushed  as  she  bent  her  fair  ringlets  over  her  knitting. 
How  her  heart  beat  as  Joseph  appeared, — Joseph,  puffing  from 


MR.  JOSKPH    ENTANGLED. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  33 

the  staircase  in  shining  creaking  boots, — Joseph,  in  a  new  waist- 
coat, red  with  heat  and  nervousness,  and  blushing  behind  his 
wadded  neckcloth.  It  was  a  nervous  moment  for  all ;  and  as  for 
Amelia,  I  think  she  was  more  Mghtened  than  even  the  people 
most  concerned. 

Sambo,  who  flung  open  the  door  and  announced  Mr.  Joseph, 
followed  grinning,  in  the  Collector's  rear,  and  bearing  two  handsome 
nosegays  of  flowers,  which  the  monster  had  actually  had  the  gallantry 
to  purchase  in  Covent  Garden  Market  that  morning — they  were  not 
as  big  as  the  hay-stacks  which  ladies  carry  about  with  them  nowa- 
days, in  cones  of  filigree  paper ;  but  the  young  women  were  delighted 
with  the  gift,  as  Joseph  presented  one  to  each,  with  an  exceedingly 
solemn  bow. 

"  Bravo,  Jos  !  "  cried  Osborne. 

"Thank  you,  dear  Joseph,"  said  Amelia,  quite  ready  to  kiss 
her  brother,  if  he  were  so  minded.  (And  I  think  for  a  kiss  from 
such  a  dear  creature  as  Amelia,  I  would  purchase  all  Mr.  Lee's 
conservatories  out  of  hand.) 

"  0  heavenly,  heavenly  flowers ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Sharp,  and 
smelt  them  delicately,  and  held  them  to  her  bosom,  and  cast  up 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration.  Perhaps  she 
just  looked  first  into  the  bouquet,  to  see  whether  there  was  a  billet- 
doux  hidden  among  the  flowers ;  but  there  was  no  letter. 

"Do  they  talk  the  language  of  flowers  at  Boggley  Wollah, 
Sedley '? "  asked  Osborne,  laughing. 

"  Pooh,  nonsense  ! "  replied  the  sentimental  youth.  "  Bought 
'em  at  Nathan's;  very  glad  you  like  'em;  and  eh,  Amelia,  my 
dear,  I  bought  a  pine-apple  at  the  same  time,  which  I  gave  to 
Sambo.  Let's  have  it  for  tiflBn;  very  cool  and  nice  this  hot 
weather."  Rebecca  said  she  had  never  tasted  a  pine,  and  longed 
beyond  everything  to  taste  one. 

So  the  conversation  went  on.  I  don't  know  on  what  pretext 
,  Osborne  left  the  room,  or  why,  presently,  Amelia  went  away, 
perhaps  to  superintend  the  slicing  of  the  pine-apple ;  but  Jos  was 
left  alone  with  Rebecca,  who  had  resimied  her  work,  and  the  green 
silk  and  the  shining  needles  were  quivering  rapidly  under  her  white 
slender  fingers. 

"What  a  beautiful,  byoo-ootiful  song  that  was  you  sang  last 
night,  dear  Miss  Sharp,"  said  the  Collector.  "It  made  me  cry 
almost ;  'pon  my  honour  it  did." 

"  Because  you  have  a  kind  heart,  Mr.  Joseph ;  all  the  Sedleys 
have,  I  think.'* 

"  It  kept  me  awake  last  night,  and  I  was  trying  to  hum  it  this 
morning,  in  bed;   I  was,  upon  my  honour.      GoUop,  my  doctor. 


34  VANITY    FAIR 

came  in  at  eleven  (for  I'm  a  sad  invalid,  you  know,  and  see  GoUop 
every  day),  and,  'gad  !  there  I  was,  singing  away  like — a  robin." 
"  0  you  droll  creature  !     Do  let  me  hear  you  sing  it." 
"Me?    No,  you.  Miss  Sharp;  my  dear  Miss  Sharp,  do  sing  it." 
"Not  now,  Mr.   Sedley,"  said   Rebecca,  with   a   sigh.     "My 
spirits  are  not  equal  to  it ;  besides,  I  must  finish  the  purse.     Will 
you  help  me,  Mr.  Sedley  1 "     And  before  he  had  time  to  ask  how, 
Mr.   Joseph   Sedley,   of  the   East   India  Company's   service,   was 
actually  seated  tete-a-tete  with  a  young  lady,  looking  at  her  with  a 
most  killing  expression;  his  arms  stretched  out  before  her  in  an 
imploring  attitude,  and  his  hands  bound  in  a  web  of  green  silk, 
which  she  was  unwinding. 


In  this  romantic  position  Osborne  and  Amelia  found  the  interest- 
ing pair,  when  they  entered  to  announce  that  tiffin  was  ready.  The 
skein  of  silk  was  just  wound  round  the  card ;  but  Mr.  Jos  had  never 
spoken. 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  to-night,  dear,"  Amelia  said,  as  she  pressed 
Rebecca's  hand ;  and  Sedley,  too,  had  communed  with  his  soul,  and 
said  to  himself,  "  'Gad,  I'll  pop  the  question  at  Vauxhall." 


CHAPTER   V 

DOBBIN   OF    OURS 

CUFF'S  fight  with  Dobbin,  and  the  unexpected  issue  of  that 
contest,  will  long  M^Temembered  by  every  man  who  was 
educated  at  Dr.  Swishtail's  famous  school.  The  latter  youth 
(who  used  to  be  called  Heigh  ho  Dobbin,  Gee-ho  Dobbin,  and  by  many 
other  names  indicative  of  puerile  contempt)  was  the  quietest,  the 
clumsiest,  and,  as  it  seemed,  the  dullest  of  all  Dr.  Swishtail's  young 
gentlemen.  His  parent  was  a  grocer  in  the  City  :  and  it  was  bruited 
abroad  that  he  was  admitted  into  Dr.  Swishtail's  academy  upon  wh^t 
are  called  "  mutual  principles  " — that  is  to  say,  the  expenses  of  his 
board  and  schooling  were  defrayed  by  his  father  in  goods,  not  money ; 
and  he  stood  there — almost  at  the  bottom  of  the  school — in  his 
scraggy  corduroys  and  jacket,  through  the  seams  of  which  his  great 
big  bones  were  bursting — as  the  representative  of  so  many  pounds  of 
tea,  candles,  sugar,  mottled-soap,  plums  (of  which  a  very  mild  pro- 
portion was  supplied  for  the  puddings  of  the  establishment),  and 
other  commodities.  A  dreadful  day  it  was  for  young  Dobbin  when 
one  of  the  youngsters  of  the  school,  having  run  into  the  town  upon 
a  poaching  excursion  for  hardbake  and  polonies,  espied  the  cart  of 
Dobbin  &  Rudge,  Grocers  and  Oilmen,  Thames  Street,  London,  at 
the  Doctor's  door,  discharging  a  cargo  of  the  wares  in  which  the 
firm  dealt. 

Young  Dobbin  had  no  peace  after  that.  The  jokes  were  frightful, 
and  merciless  against  him,  "  Hullo,  Dobbin,"  one  wag  would  say, 
"here's  good  news  in  the  paper.  Sugar  is  ris',  my  boy."  Another 
would  set  a  sum — "  If  a  pound  of  mutton-candles  cost  sevenpence- 
halfpenny,  how  much  must  Dobbin  cost  1 "  and  a  roar  would  follow 
from  all  the  circle  of  young  knaves,  usher  and  all,  who  rightly  con- 
sidered that  the  selling  of  goods  by  retail  is  a  shameful  and  infamous 
practice,  meriting  the  contempt  and  scorn  of  all  real  gentlemen. 

"  Your  father's  only  a  merchant,  Osborne,"  Dobbin  stid  in  private 
to  the  little  boy  who  had  brought  down  the  stonn  upon  him.  At 
which  the  latter  replied  haughtily,  "  My  father's  a  gentleman,  and 
keeps  his  carriage ; "  and  Mr.  William  Dobbin  retreated  to  a  remote 
outhouse  in  the  playground,  where  he  passed  a  half-holiday  in  the 


^6  VANITY    FAIR 

bitterest  sadness  and  woe.  Who  amongst  us  is  there  that  does  not 
recollect  similar  hours  of  bitter,  bitter  childish  grief?  Who  feels 
injustice ;  who  shrinks  before  a  slight ;  who  has  a  sense  of  wrong  so 
acute,  and  so  glowing  a  gratitude  for  kindness,  as  a  generous  boy? 
and  how  many  of  those  gentle  souls  do  you  degrade,  estrange,  torture, 
for  the  sake  of  a  little  loose  arithmetic,  and  miserable  dog-latin  ? 

Now,  William  Dobbin,  from  an  incapacity  to  acquire  the  rudiments 
of  the  above  language,  as  they  are  propounded  in  that  wonderful  book 
the  Eton  Latin  Grammar,  was  compelled  to  remain  among  the  very 
last  of  Doctor  Swishtail's  scholars,  and  was  "  taken  down  "  continu- 
ally by  little  fellows  with  pink  faces  and  pinafores  when  he  marched 
up  with  the  lower  form,  a  giant  amongst  them,  with  his  downcast, 
stupefied  look,  his  dog's-eared  primer,  and  his  tight  corduroys.  High 
and  low,  all  made  fun  of  him.  They  sewed  up  those  corduroys,  tight 
as  they  were.  They  cut  his  bed-strings.  They  upset  buckets  and 
benches,  so  that  he  might  break  his  shins  over  them,  which  he  never 
failed  to  do.  They  sent  him  parcels,  which,  when  opened,  were  found 
to*contain  the  paternal  soap  and  candles.  There  was  no  little  fellow 
but  had  his  jeer  and  joke  at  Dobbin ;  and  he  bore  everything  quite 
patiently,  and  was  entirely  dumb  and  miserable. 

(^Cuff,  on  the  contrary,  was  the  great  chief  and  dandy  of  the 
Swishtail  Seminary.  He  smuggled  wine  in.  He  fought  the  town- 
boys.  Ponies  used  to  come  for  him  to  ride  home  on  Saturdays.  He 
had  his  top-boots  in  his  room,  in  which  he  used  to  hunt  in  the  holidays. 
He  had  a  gold  repeater  :  and  took  snuff  like  the  Doctor.  He  had 
been  to  the  Opera,  and  knew  the  merits  of  the  principal  actors,  pre- 
ferring Mr.  Kean  to  Mr.  Kemble.  He  could  knock  you  off  forty 
Latin  verses  in  an  hour.  He  could  make  French  poetry.  What  else 
didn't  he  know,  or  couldn't  he  do  ?  They  said  even  the  Doctor  him- 
self was  afraid  of  him. 

Cuff,  the  unquestioned  king  of  the  school,  ruled  over  his  subjects, 
and  bullied  them,  with  splendid  superiority.  This  one  blacked  his 
shoes :  that  toasted  his  bread,  others  would  fag  out,  and  give  him 
balls  at  cricket  during  whole  summer  afternoons.  "Figs"  was  the 
feUow  whom  he  despised  most,  and  with  whom,  though  always 
abusing  him,  and  sneering  at  him,  he  scarcely  ever  condescended  to 
hold  personal  commimication. 

One  day  in  private,  the  two  young  gentlemen  had  had  a  differ- 
ence. FigSjWone  in  the  school-room,  was  blundering  over  a  home 
letter;  when  Cuff,  entering,  bade  him  go  upon  some  message,  of 
which  tarts  were  probably  the  subject.  , 

"  I  can't,"  says  Dobbin ;  "  I  want  to  finish  my  letter." 

"  You  can't  ?  "  says  Mr.  Cuff,  laying  hold  of  that  document  (in 
which  many  words  were  scratched  out,  many  were  mis-spelt,  on  which 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  ^7 

had  been  spent  I  don't  know  how  much  thought,  and  labour,  and 
tears ;  for  the  poor  fellow  was  writing  to  his  mother,  who  was  fond 
of  him,  although  she  was  a  grocer's  wife,  and  lived  in  a  back  parlour 
in  Thames  Street).  "  You  can't  ?  "^says  Mr.  Cuff :  "  I  should  like  to 
know  why,  pray  ?    Can't  you  write  to  old  Mother  Figs  to-morrow  ? " 

"Don't  call  names,"  Dobbin  said,  getting  off  the  bench  very 
nervous. 

"  Well,  sir,  will  you  go  1 "  crowed  the  cock  of  the  school. 

"  Put  down  the  letter,"  Dobbin  replied ;  "  no  gentleman  readth 
letterth." 

"  Well,  710W  will  you  go  1 "  says  the  other. 

"No,  I  won't.  Don't  strike,  or  I'll  thmash  you,"  roars  out 
Dobbin,  springing  to  a  leaden  inkstand,  and  looking  so  wicked,  that 
Mr.  Cuff  paused,  turned  down  his  coat  sleeves  again,  put  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and  walked  away  with  a  sneer.  But  he  never 
meddled  personally  with  the  grocer's  boy  after  that;  though  we 
must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  he  always  spoke  of  Mr.  Dobbin  with 
contempt  behind  his  back.  • 

Some  time  after  this  interview,  it  happened  that  Mr.  Cuflf,  on  a 
sunshiny  afternoon,  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  poor  William  Dobbin, 
who  was  lying  under  a  tree  in  the  playground,  spelling  over  a  favourite 
copy  of  the  Arabian  Nights  which  he  had — apart  from  the  rest  of 
the  school,  who  were  pursuing  their  various  sports — quite  lonely,  and 
almost  happy.  If  people  would  but  leave  children  to  themselves ;  if 
teachers  would  cease  to  bully  them ;  if  parents  would  not  insist  upon 
directing  their  thoughts,  and  dominating  their  feelings — those  feelings^ 
and  thoughts  which  are  a  mystery  to  all  (for  how  much  do  you  and 
I  know  of  each  other,  of  our  children,  of  our  fathers,  of  our  neighbour, 
and  how  far  more  beautiM  and  sacred  are  the  thoughts  of  the  poor 
lad  or  girl  whom  you  govern  likely  to  be,  than  those  of  the  dull 
and  world-corrupted  person  who  rules  him  1) — if,  I  say,  parents  and 
masters  would'leave  their  children  alone  a  little  more, — small  harm 
would  accrue,  although  a  less  quantity  of  as  in  prcesenti  might  be 
acquired. 

Well,  William  Dobbin  had  for  once  forgotten  the  world,  and  was 
away  with  Sindbad  the  Sailor  in  the  Valley  of  Diamonds,  or  with  Prince 
Ahmed  and  the  Fairy  Peribanou  in  that  delightful  cavern  where  the 
Prince  found  her,  and  whither  we  should  all  Uke  to  make  a  tour ;  when' 
shriU  cries,  as  of  a  little  fellow  weeping,  woke  up  his  pliant  reverie ; 
and  looking  up,  he  saw  Cuff  before  him,  belabouring  a  uttle  boy. 

It  was  the  lad  who  had  peached  upon  him  about  the  grocer's  cart ; 
but  he  bore  little  malice,  not  at  least  towards  the  young  and  small. 
"  How  dare  you,  sir,  break  the  bottle  ? "  says  Cuflf  to  the  little  urchin, 
swinging  a  yellow  cricket-stump  over  him. 


jS  VANITY    FAIR 

The  boy  had  been  instructed  to  get  over  the  playground  wall 
(at  a  selected  spot  where  the  broken  glass  had  been  removed  from 
the  top,  and  niches  made  convenient  in  the  brick) ;  to  run  a  quarter 
of  a  mile ;  to  purchase  a  pint  of  rum-shrub  on  credit ;  to  brave  all 
the  Doctor's  outlying  spies,  and  to  clamber  back  into  the  playground 
again ;  during  the  performance  of  which  feat  his  foot  had  slipt,  and 
the  bottle  was  broken,  and  the  shrub  had  been  spilt,  and  his  panta- 
loons had  been  damaged,  and  he  appeared  before  his  employer  a 
perfectly  guilty  and  trembling,  though  harmless,  wretch. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir,  break  it  ? "  says  Cuff;  "  you  blundering  little 
thief.  You  drank  the  shrub,  and  now  you  pretend  to  have  broken 
the  bottle.     Hold  out  your  hand,  sir." 

Down  came  the  stump  with  a  great  heavy  thump  on  the  child's 
hand.  A  moan  followed.  Dobbin  looked  up.  The  Fairy  Peribanou 
had  fled  into  the  inmost  cavern  with  Prince  Ahmed ;  the  Roc  had 
whisked  away  Sindbad  the  Sailor  out  of  the  Valley  of  Diamonds  out 
of  sight,  far  into  the  clouds :  and  there  was  everyday  life  before 
holiest  William ;  and  a  big  boy  beating  a  little  one  without  cause. 

"  Hold  out  your  other  hand,  sir,"  roars  Cuff  to  his  little  school- 
fellow, whose  face  was  distorted  with  pain.  Dobbin  quivered,  and 
gathered  himself  up  in  his  narrow  old  clothes. 

"  Take  that,  you  little  devil ! "  cried  Mr.  Cuff,  and  down  came 
the  wicket  again  on  the  child's  hand. — Don't  be  horrified,  ladies, 
every  boy  at  a  public  school  has  done  it.  Your  children  will  so  do 
and  be  done  by,  in  all  probability.  Down  came  the  wicket  again ; 
and  Dobbin  started  up. 

I  can't  tell  what  his  motive  was.  Torture  in  a  public  school  is 
as  much  licensed  as  the  knout  in  Russia.  It  would  be  ungentle- 
manlike  (in  a  manner)  to  resist  it.  Perhaps  Dobbin's  foolish  soul 
revolted  against  that  exercise  of  tyranny ;  or  perhaps  he  had  a 
hankering  feeling  of  revenge  in  his  mind,  and  longed  to  measure 
himself  against  that  splendid  bully  and  tyrant,  who  had  all  the 
glory,  pride,  pomp,  circumstance,  banners  flying,  drums  beating, 
guards  saluting,  in  the  place.  Whatever  may  have  been  his  incen- 
tive, however,  up  he  sprang,  and  screamed  out,  "Hold  off.  Cuff'; 
don't  bully  that  child  any  more ;  or  I'll " 

"  Or  you'll  what  1 "  Cuff"  asked  in  amazement  at  this  interrup- 
tion.    "  Hold  out  your  hand,  you  little  beast." 

"  I'll  gi^  you  the  worst  thrashing  you  ever  had  in  your  life," 
Dobbin  said,  in  reply  to  the  first  part  of  Cuffs  sentence ;  and  little 
Osborne,  gasping  and  in  tears,  looked  up  with  wonder  and  incredulity 
at  seeing  this  amazing  champion  put  up  suddenly  to  defend  him  : 
while  Cuffs  astonishment  was  scarcely  less.  Fancy  our  late  monarch 
George  III.  when  he  heard  of  the  revolt  of  the  North  American 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  39 

colonies  :  fancy  brazen  Goliath  when  little  David  stepped  forward 
and  claimed  a  meeting ;  and  you  have  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Reginald 
Cuff  when  this  rencontre  was  proposed  to  him. 

"  After  school,"  says  he,  of  course ;  after  a  pause  and  a  look,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Make  your  will,  and  communicate  your  last  wishes 
to  your  friends  between  this  time  and  that." 

"As  you  please,"  Dobbin  said.  "You  must  be  my  bottle- 
holder,  Osborne." 


"  Well,  if  you  like,"  little  Osborne  replied ;  §o»  you  see  his  papa  \    ' 

J  ' 


kept  a  carriage,  and  he  was  rather  ashamed  of  his  champion. 


Yes,  when  the  hour  of  battle  came  he  was  almost  ashamed  u 
say,  "  Go  it.  Figs ; "  and  not  a  single  other  boy  in  the  place  uttered 
that  cry  for  the  first  two  or  three  rounds  of  this  famous  combat ;  at 
the  commencement  of  which  the  scientific  Cufi",  with  a  contemptuous 
smile  on  his  face,  and  as  light  and  as  gay  as  if  he  was  at  a  ball, 
planted  his  blows  upon  his  adversary,  and  floored  that  unlucky 
champion  three  times  running.  At  each  fall  there  was  a  cheer ;  and 
everybody  was  anxious  to  have  the  honour  of  offering  the  conqueror 
a  knee. 

"What  a  licking  I  shall  get  when  it's  over,"  young  Osborne 
thought,  picking  up  his  man.  "You'd  best  give  in,"  he  said  to 
Dobbin ;  "  it's  only  a  thrashing.  Figs,  and  you  know  I'm  used  to  it. 
But  Figs,  all  whose  limbs  were  in  a  quiver,  and  whose  nostrils  were 
breathing  rage,  put  his  little  bottle-holder  aside,  and  went  in  for  a 
fourth  time. 

As  he  did  not  in  the  least  know  how  to  parry  the  blows  that 
were  aimed  at  himself,  and  Cuff  had  begun  the  attack  on  the  three 
preceding  occasions,  without  ever  allowing  his  enemy  to  strike,  Figs 
now  determined  that  he  would  commence  the  engagement  by  a 
charge  on  his  own  part ;  and  accordingly,  being  a  left-handed  man, 
brought  that  arm  into  action,  and  hit  out  a  couple  of  times  with  all 
his  might — once  at  Mr.  Cuffs  left  eye,  and  once  on  his  beautiful 
Roman  nose. 

Cufi"  went  down  this  time,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  assembly. 
"  Well  hit,  by  Jove,"  says  little  Osborne,  with  the  air  of  a  connois- 
seur, clapping  his  man  on  the  back.  "  Give  it  him  with  the  left, 
Figs  my  boy." 

Figs's  left  made  terrific  play  during  all  the  rest  of  the  combat. 
CuJff  went  down  every  time.  At  the  sixth  round,  there  were  almost 
as  many  fellows  shouting  out,  "  Go  it,  Figs,"  as  there  were  youths 
exclaiming,  "  Go  it.  Cuff."  At  the  twelfth  round  the  latter  cham- 
pion was  all  abroad,  as  the  saying  is,  and  had  lost  all  presence  of 
mind  and  power  of  attack  or  defence.  Figs,  on  the  contrary,  was 
6 


40  VANITY    FAIR 

as  calm  aa  a  Quaker.  His  face  being  quite  pale,  his  eyes  shining 
open,  and  a  great  cut  on  his  under-lip  bleeding  profusely,  gave  this 
young  fellow  a  fierce  and  ghastly  air,  which  perhaps  struck  terror 
into  many  spectators.  Nevertheless,  his  intrepid  adversary  prepared 
to  close  for  the  thirteenth  time. 

If  I  had  the  pen  of  a  Napier,  or  a  Bell's  Life,  I  should  like  to  de- 
scribe this  combat  properly.  It  was  the  last  charge  of  the  Guard — 
(that  is,  it  would  have  been,  only  Waterloo  had  not  yet  taken  place) 
— it  was  Ney's  column  breasting  the  hill  of  La  Haye  Sainte,  bristling 
with  ten  thousand  bayonets,  and  crowned  with  twenty  eagles — it 
was  the  shout  of  the  beef-eating  British,  as  leaping  down  the  hill 
they  rushed  to  hug  the  enemy  in  the  savage  arms  of  battle — in  other 
words,  Cuff  coming  up  full  of  pluck,  but  quite  reeling  and  groggy, 
the  Fig-merchant  put  in  his  left  as  usual  on  his  adversary's  nose, 
and  sent  him  down  for  the  last  time. 

"I  think  that  will  do  for  him,"  Figs  said,  as  his  opponent 
dropped  as  neatly  on  the  green  as  I  have  seen  Jack  Spot's  ball 
plump  into  the  pocket  at  billiards ;  and  the  fact  is,  when  time  was 
called,  Mr.  Reginald  Cuff  was  not  able,  or  did  not  choose,  to  stand 
up  again. 

And  now  all  the  boys  set  up  such  a  shout  for  Figs  as  would 
have  made  you  think  he  had  been  their  darling  champion  through 
the  whole  battle ;  and  as  absolutely  brought  Dr.  Swishtail  out  of 
his  study,  curious  to  know  the  cause  of  the  uproar.  He  threatened 
to  flog  Figs  violently,  of  course ;  but  Cuff,  who  had  come  to  himself 
by  this  time,  and  was  washing  his  wounds,  stood  up  and  said,  "  It's 
my  fault,  sir — not  Figs's — not  Dobbin's.  I  was  bullying  a  little  boy ; 
and  he  served  me  right."  By  which  magnanimous  speech  he  not 
only  saved  his  conqueror  a  whipping,  but  got  back  aU  his  ascendency 
over  the  boys  which  his  defeat  had  nearly  cost  him. 

Young  Osborne  wrote  home  to  his  parents  an  account  of  the 
transaction. 

"  Sugarcane  Housb,  Richmond,  March  i8— ." 

"  Dear  Mama, — I  hope  you  are  quite  weU.  I  should  be  much 
obliged  to  you  to  send  me  a  cake  and  five  shillings.  There  has  been 
a  fight  here  between  Cuff  &  Dobbin.  Cuff,  you  know,  was  the  Cock 
of  the  School.  They  fought  thirteen  rounds,  and  Dobbin  Licked. 
So  Cuff  is  now  Only  Second  Cock.  The  fight  was  about  me.  Cuff 
was  licking  me  for  breaking  a  bottle  of  milk,  and  Figs  wouldn't  stand 
it.  We  call  him  Figs  because  his  father  is  a  Grocer — Figs  &  Rudge, 
Thames  St.,  City — I  think  as  he  fought  for  me  you  ought  to  buy 
your  Tea  &  Sugar  at  his  father's.  Cuff  goes  home  every  Saturday, 
but  can't  this,  because  he  has  2  Black  Eyes.     He  has  a  white  Pony 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  41 

to  come  and  fetch  him,  and  a  groom  in  livery  on  a  bay  mare.  I 
wish  my  Papa  would  let  me  have  a  Pony,  and  I  am  your  dutiful 
Son,  George  Sedley  Osborne. 

"  P.S. — Give  my  love  to  little  Emmy.  I  am  cutting  her  out  a 
Coach  in  cardboard.     Please  not  a  seed-cake,  but  a  plum-cake." 

In  consequence  of  Dobbin's  victory,  his  character  rose  prodigi- 
ously in  the  estimation  of  all  his  schoolfellows,  and  the  name  of  Figs, 
which  had  been  a  byword  of  reproach,  became  as  respectable  and 
popular  a  nickname  as  any  other  in  use  in  the  school.  "  After  all, 
it's  not  his  fault  that  his  father's  a  grocer,"  George  Osborne  said, 
who,  though  a  little  chap,  had  a  very  high  popularity  among  the 
Swishtail  youth ;  and  his  opinion  was  received  with  great  applause. 
It  was  voted  low  to  sneer  at  Bobbin  about  this  accident  of  birth. 
"  Old  Figs  "  grew  to  be  a  name  of  kindness  and  endearment ;  and 
the  sneak  of  an  usher  jeered  at  him  no  longer. 

And  Dobbin's  spirit  rose  with  his  altered  circumstances.  He 
made  wonderful  advances  in  scholastic  learning.  The  superb  Cuff 
himself,  at  whose  condescension  Dobbin  could  only  blush  and 
wonder,  helped  him  on  with  his  Latin  verses ;  "  coached "  him  in 
play-hours  :  carried  him  triumphantly  out  of  the  little-boy  class  into 
the  middle-sized  form ;  and  even  there  got  a  fair  place  for  him.  It 
was  discovered,  that  although  dull  at  classical  learning,  at  mathema- 
tics he  was  uncommonly  quick.  To  the  contentment  of  all  he  passed 
third  in  algebra,  and  got  a  French  prize-book  at  the  public  Mid- 
summer examination.  You  should  have  seen  his  mother's  face  when 
Tdl^maque  (that  delicious  romance)  was  presented  to  him  by  the 
Doctor  in  the  face  of  the  whole  school  and  the  parents  and  company, 
with  an  inscription  to  Gulielmo  Dobbin.  All  the  boys  clapped  hands 
in  token  of  applause  and  sympathy.  His  blushes,  his  stumbles,  his 
awkwardness,  and  the  number  of  feet  which  he  crushed  as  he  went 
back  to  his  place,  who  shall  describe  or  calculate  ?  Old  Dobbin,  his 
father,  who  now  respected  him  for  the  first  time,  gave  him  two 
guineas  publicly ;  most  of  which  he  spent  in  a  general  tuck-out  for 
the  school :  and  he  came  back  in  a  tail-coat  after  the  hoHdays. 

Dobbin  was  much  too  modest  a  young  fellow  to  suppose  that  this 
happy  change  in  all  his  circumstances  arose  from  his  own  generous 
and  'manly  disposition :  he  chose,  from  some  perverseness,  to  attri- 
bute his  good  fortune  to  the  sole  agency  and  benevolence  of  little 
GeorgeOsbOTne,  to  whom  henceforth  he  vowed  such  a  love  and  affec- 
tion as  is  only  felt  by  children — such  an  affection,  as  we  read  in  the 
charming  fairy-book,  uncouth  Orson  had  for  splendid  young  Valentine 
his  conqueror.     He  flung  himself  down  at  little  Osborne's  feet  and 


4*  VANITY    FAIR 

loved  him.  Even  before  they  were  acquainted,  he  had  admired 
Osborne  in  secret.  Now  he  was  his  valet,  his  dog,  his  man  Friday.  1 
He  believed  Osborne  to  be  the  possessor  of  every  perfection,  to  be 
the  handsomest,  the  bravest,  the  most  active,  the  cleverest,  the  most  ] 
generous  of  created  boys.  He  shared  his  money  with  him  :  bought 
him  uncountable  presents  of  knives,  pencil-cases,  gold  seals,  toffee. 
Little  Warblers,  and  romantic  books,  with  large  coloured  pictures  of 
knights  and  robbers,  in  many  of  which  latter  you  might  read  inscrip- 
tions to  George  Sedley  Osborne,  Esquire,  from  his  attached  friend 
William  Dobbin — the  which  tokens  of  homage  George  received  very 
graciously,  as  became  his  superior  merit. 

So  that  Lieutenant  Osborne,  when  coming  to  Russell  Square  on 
the  day  of  the  Vauxhall  party,  said  to  the  ladies,  "  Mrs.  Sedley, 
Ma'am,  I  hope  you  have  room ;  I've  asked  Dobbin  of  ours  to  come 
and  dine  here,  and  go  with  us  to  Vauxhall.  He's  almost  as  modest 
as  Jos." 

"  Modesty  !  pooh,"  said  the  stout  gentleman,  casting  a  vainqueur 
look  at  Miss  Sharp. 

"He  is — but  you  are  incomparably  more  graceful,  Sedley," 
Osborne  added,  laughing.  "  I  met  him  at  the  Bedford,  when  I  went 
to  look  for  you ;  and  I  told  him  that  Miss  Amelia  was  come  home, 
and  that  we  were  all  bent  on  going  out  for  a  night's  pleasuring ;  and 
that  Mrs.  Sedley  had  forgiven  his  breaking  the  punch-bowl  at  the 
child's  party.  Don't  you  remember  the  catastrophe,  Ma'am,  seven 
years  ago  1 " 

"Over  Mrs.  Flamingo's  crimson  silk  gown,"  said  good-natured 
Mrs.  Sedley.  "  What  a  gawky  it  was !  And  his  sisters  are  not 
much  more  graceful.  Lady  Dobbin  was  at  Highbury  last  night  v/ith 
three  of  them.     Such  figures  !  my  dears." 

"The  Alderman's  very  rich,  isn't  he?"  Osborne  said  archly. 
"Don't  you  think  one  of  the  daughters  would  be  a  good  spec  for 
me.  Ma'am  r' 

"  You  foolish  creature  !  Who  would  take  you,  I  should  like  to 
know,  with  your  yellow  face  1 " 

"  Mine  a  yellow  face  1  Stop  till  you  see  Dobbin.  Why,  he  had 
the  yellow  fever  three  times  ;  twice  at  Nassau  and  once  at  St.  Kitts." 

"Well,  well;  yours  is  quite  yellow  enough  for  us.  Isn't  it, 
Emmy?"  Mrs.  Sedley  said:  at  which  speech  Miss  Amelia  only 
made  a  smile  and  a  blush ;  and  looking  at  Mr.  George  Osborne's  pale 
interesting  countenance,  and  those  beautiful  black,  curling,  shining 
whiskers,  which  the  young  gentleman  himself  regarded  with  no 
ordinary  complacency,  she  thought  in  her  little  heart,  that  in  his 
Majesty's  army,  or  in  the  wide  world,  there  never  was  such  a  face 


!^A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  43 

or  such  ^yiero^^  "  I  don't  care  about  Captain  Dobbin's  complexion," 
she  said,  "or  about  his  awkwardness.  /  shall  always  like  him,  I 
know ; "  her  little  reason  being,  that  he  was  the  friend  and  champion 
of  George.  ^ 

"  There's  not  a  finer  fellow  in  the  service,"  Osborne  said,  "  nor  a 
better  officer,  though  he  is  not  an  Adonis,  certainly."     And  he  looked 
towards  the  glass  himself  with  much  naivete ;  and  in  so  doing,  caught"? 
Miss  Sharp's  eye  fixed  keenly  upon  him,  at  which  he  blushed  a  little,  V  ^^^-^ 
and  Rebecca  thought  in  her  heart,  ^^  Ah,  mon  beau  Monsieur  I  ly    <3juu. 
think  I  have  your  gauge," — the  little  artful  minx  !  a^ 

That  evening,  when  Amelia  came  tripping  into  the  drawing-room  ^-^ 

in  a  white  muslin  frock,  prepared  for  conquest  at  Vauxhall,  singing 
like  a  lark,  and  as  fresh  as  a  rose — a  very  tall  ungainly  gentleman, 
with  large  hands  and  feet  and  large  ears,  set  off"  by  a  closely  cropped 
head  of  black  hair,  and  in  the  hideous  military  frogged  coat  and 
cocked-hat  of  those  times,  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  made  her  one 
of  the  clumsiest  bows  that  was  ever  performed  by  a  mortal. 

This    was   no    other   than    Captain   "William    Dobbin    of  his 

Majesty's  Regiment  of  Foot,  returned  from  yellow  fever,  in 

the  West  Indies,  to  which  the  fortune  of  the  service  had  ordered 
his  regiment,  while  so  many  of  his  gallant  comrades  were  reaping 
glory  in  the  Peninsula. 

He  had  arrived  with  a  knock  so  very  timid  and  quiet,  that  it  was 
inaudible  to  the  ladies  upstairs :  otherwise,  you  may  be  sure  Miss 
Amelia  would  never  have  been  so  bold  as  to  come  singing  into  the 
room.  As  it  was,  the  sweet  fresh  little  voice  went  right  into  the 
Captain's  heart,  and  nestled  there.  When  she  held  out  her  hand 
for  him  to  shake,  before  he  enveloped  it  in  his  own,  he  paused,  and 
thought — "  Well,  is  it  possible — are  you  the  little  maid  I  remember 
in  the  pink  frock,  such  a  short  time  ago — the  night  I  upset  the 
punch-bowl,  just  after  I  was  gazetted  1  Are  you  the  little  girl  that 
George  Osborne  said  should  marry  him"?  What  a  blooming  young 
creature  you  seem,  and  what  a  prize  the  rogue  has  got ! "  All  this 
he  thought,  before  he  took  Amelia's  hand  into  his  own,  and  as  he 
let  his  cocked-hat  fall. 

His  history  since  he  left  school,  until  the  very  moment  when 
we  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  again,  although  not  fully 
narrated,  has  yet,  I  think,  been  indicated  sufficiently  for  an  ingenious 
reader  by  the  above  conversation.  Dobbin,  the  despised  grocer, 
was  Alderman  Dobbin  ^Alderman  Dobbin  was  Colonel  of  the  City 
Light  Horse,  then  burning  with  military  ardour  to  resist  the  Frencli 
Invasion.  Colonel  Dobbin's  corps,  in  which  old  Mr.  Osborne  himself 
was  but  an  indifferent  corporal,  had  been  reviewed  by  the  Sovereign 
and  the  Duke  of  York;  and  the  colonel  and  alderman  had  been 


44  VANITY    FAIR 

knighted.  His  son  had  entered  the  army :  and  young  Osborae 
followed  presently  in  the  same  regiment.  They  had  served  in  the 
West  Indies,  and  in  Canada.  Their  regiment  had  just  come  home, 
and  the  attachment  of  Dobbin  to  George  Osborne  was  as  warm  and 
generous  now  as  it  had  been  when  the  two  were  schoolboys. 

So  these  worthy  people  sat  down  to  dinner  presently.  They 
talked  about  war  and  glory,  and  Boney  and  Lord  Wellington,  and 
the  last  Gazette.  In  those  famous  days  every  gazette  had  a  victory 
in  it,  and  the  two  gallant  young  men  longed  to  see  their  own  names 
in  the  glorious  list,  and  cursed  their  unlucky  fate  to  belong  to  a 
regiment  which  had  been  away  from  the  chances  of  honour.  Miss 
Sharp  kindled  with  this  exciting  talk,  but  Miss  Sedley  trembled  and 
grew  quite  faint  as  she  heard  it.  Mr.  Jos  told  several  of  his  tiger- 
hunting  stories,  finished  the  one  about  Miss  Cutler  and  Lance  the 
surgeon;  helped  Rebecca  to  everything  on  the  table,  and  himself 
gobbled  and  drank  a  great  deal. 

He  sprang  to  open  the  door  for  the  ladies,  when  they  retired,  with 
the  most  killing  grace — and  coming  back  to  the  table,  filled  himself 
bumper  after  bumper  of  claret,  which  he  swallowed  with  nervous 
rapidity. 

"  He's  priming  himself,"  Osborne  whispered  to  Dobbin,  and  at 
length  the  hour  and  the  carriage  arrived  for  Vauxhall. 


J" 

CHAPTER    VI 

VAVXHALL 

1KN0W  that  the  tune  I  am  piping  is  a  very  mild  one  (although  )<' 
there  are  some  terrific  chapters  coming  presently),  and  must  beg 
the  good-natured  reader  to  remember,  that  we  are  only  discours- 
ing at  present  about  a  stockbroker's  family  in  Russell  Square,  who 
are  taking  walks,  or  luncheon,  or  dinner,  or  talking  and  making  love 
as  people  do  in  common  life,  and  without  a  single  passionate  and 
wonderful  incident  to  mark  the  progress  of  their  loves.  The  argument 
stands  thus — Osborne,  in  love  with  Amelia,  has  asked  an  old  friend 
to  dinner  and  to  Vauxhall — Jos  Sedley  is  in  love  with  Rebecca. 
Will  he  marry  her  %    That  is  the  great  subject  now  in  hand. 

We  might  have  treated  this  subject  in  the  genteel,  or  in  the 
romantic,  or  in  the  facetious  manner.  Suppose  we  had  laid  the 
scene  in  Grosvenor  Square,  with  the  very  same  adventures — would 
not  some  people  have  listened  %  Suppose  we  had  shown  how  Lord 
•Joseph  Sedley  fell  in  love,  and  the  Marquis  of  Osborne  became 
attached  to  Lady  Amelia,  with  the  full  consent  of  the  Duke,  her 
noble  father :  or  instead  of  the  supremely  genteel,  suppose  we  had  \ 
resorted  to  the  entirely  low,  and  described  what  was  going  on  in  Mr.  i 
Sedley's  kitchen ; — how  black  Sambo  was  in  love  with  the  cook  (as  [ 
indeed  he  was),  and  how  he  fought  a  battle  with  the  coachman  in 
her  behalf;  how  the  knife-boy  was  caught  stealing  a  cold  shoulder 
of  mutton,  and  Miss  Sedley's  new  femme  de  chambre  refused  to  go 
to  bed  without  a  wax  candle ;  such  incidents  might  be  made  to  pro- 
voke much  delightful  laughter,  and  be  supposed  to  represent  scenes 
of  "  life."  Or  if,  on  the  contrary,  we  had  taken  a  fancy  for  the 
terrible,  and  made  the  lover  of  the  new  femme  de  chambre  a  pro- 
fessional burglar,  who  bursts  into  the  house  with  his  band,  slaughters 
black  Sambo  at  the  feet  of  his  master,  and  carries  off  Amelia  in  her 
night-dress,  not  to  be  let  loose  again  till  the  third  volume,  we  should 
easily  have  constructed  a  tale  of  thriUiag  interest,  through  the  fiery 
chapters  of  which  the  reader  should  hurry,  panting.  But  my  readers 
must  hope  for  no  such  romance,  only  a  homely  story,  and  must  be  con- 
tent with  a  chapter  about  Vauxhall,  which  is  so  short  that  it  scarce 
deserves  to  be  called  a  chapter  at  all.     And  yet  it  is  a  chapter,  and 


46  VANITY    FAIR 

a  very  important  one  too.  Are  not  there  little  chapters  in  every^ 
body's  life,  that  seem  to  be  nothing,  and  yet  affect  all  the  rest  of 
the  history  1 

Let  us  then  step  into  the  coach  with  the  Russell  Square  party, 
and  be  off  to  the  Gardens.  There  is  barely  room  between  Jos  and 
Miss  Sharp,  who  are  on  the  front  seat.  Mr.  Osborne  sitting  bodkin 
opposite,  between  Captain  Dobbin  and  Amelia. 

Every  soul  in  the  coach  agreed,  that  on  that  night  Jos  would 
propose  to  make  Rebecca  Sharp  Mrs.  Sedley.  The  parents  at  home 
liad  acquiesced  in  the  arrangement,  though,  between  ourselves,  old 
Mr.  Sedley  had  a  feeling  very  much  akin  to  contempt  for  his  son. 
He  said  he  was  vain,  selfish,  lazy,  and  effeminate.  He  could  not 
endure  his  airs  as  a  man  of  fashion,  and  laughed  heartily  at  his 
pompous  braggadocio  stories.  "  I  shall  leave  the  fellow  half  my 
property,"  he  said  ;  "  and  he  will  have,  besides,  plenty  of  his  own ; 
but  as  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  if  you,  and  I,  and  his  sister  were  to 
die  to-morrow,  he  would  say  '  Good  Gad  !'  and  eat  his  dinner  just 
as  well  as  usual,  I  am  not  going  to  make  myself  anxious  about 
him.     Let  him  marry  whom  he  likes.     It's  no  affair  of  mine." 

Amelia,  on  the  other  hand,  as  became  a  young  woman  of  her 
prudence  and  temperament,  was  quite  enthusiastic  for  the  match. 
Once  or  twice  Jos  had  been  on  the  point  of  saying  something  very 
important  to  her,  to  which  she  was  most  willing  to  lend  an  ear, 
but  the  fat  fellow  could  not  be  brought  to  unbosom  himself  of 
his  great  secret,  and  very  much  to  his  sister's  disappointment  he  * 
only  rid  himself  of  a  large  sigh  and  turned  away. 

This  mystery  served  to  keep  Amelia's  gentle"  bosom  in  a  per- 
petual flutter  of  excitement.  If  she  did  not  speak  with  Rebecca 
on  the  tender  subject,  she  compensated  herself  with  long  and 
intimate  conversations  with  Mrs.  Blenkinsop,  the  housekeeper, 
who  dropped  some  hints  to  the  lady's-maid,  who  may  have 
cursorily  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  cook,  who  carried  the  news, 
I  have  no  doubt,  to  all  the  tradesmen,  so  that  Mr.  Jos's  marriage 
was  now  talked  of  by  a  very  considerable  number  of  persons  in  the 
Russell  Square  world. 

It  was,  of  course,  Mrs.  Sedley's  opinion  that  her  son  would 
demean  himself  by  a  marriage  with  an  artist's  daughter.  "  But, 
lor'.  Ma'am,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Blenkinsop,  "we  was  only  grocers 
when  we  married  Mr.  S.,  who  was  a  stockbroker's  clerk,  and  we 
hadn't  five  hundred  pounds  among  us,  and  we're  rich  enough  now." 
And  Amelia  was  entirely  of  this  opinion,  to  which,  gradually,  the 
good-natured  Mrs.  Sedley  was  brought. 

Mr.  Sedley  was  neutral.  "  Let  Jos  marry  whom  he  likes,"  he 
aaid ;  "  it's  no  affair  of  mine.     This  girl  has  no  fortune ;  no  more 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  47 

had  Mrs.  Sedley.  She  seems  good-humoured  and  clever,  and  will 
keep  him  in  order,  perhaps.  Better  she,  my  dear,  than  a  black 
Mrs.  Sedley,  and  a  dozen  of  mahogany  grandchildren." 

So  that  everything  seemed  to^smile  upon  Rebecca's  fortunes. 
She  took  Jos's  arm,  as  a  matter  of  course,  on  going  to  dinner ;  she 
had  sate  by  him  on  the  box  of  his  open  carriage  (a  most  tremendous 
"  buck  "  he  was,  as  he  sat  there,  serene,  in  state,  driving  his  greys), 
and  though  nobody  said  a  word  on  the  subject  of  the  marriage, 
everybody  seemed  to  understand  it.  All  she  wanted  was  the 
proposal,  and  ah  !  how  Rebecca  now  felt  the  want  of  a  mother ! —  I 
a  dear,  tender  mother,  who  would  have  managed  the  business  in  I 
ten  minutes,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  little  delicate  confidential  con- 
versation, would  have  extracted  the  interesting  avowal  from  the 
bashful  lips  of  the  young  man  ! 

Such  was  the  state  of  afiairs  as  the  carriage  crossed  Westminster 
Bridge. 

The  party  was  landed  at  the  Royal  Gardens  in  due  time.  As 
the  majestic  Jos  stepped  out  of  the  creaking  vehicle  the  crowd  gave 
a  cheer  for  the  fat  gentleman,  who  blushed  and  looked  very  big 
and  mighty,  as  he  walked  away  with  Rebecca  under  his  arm. 
George,  of  course,  took  charge  of  Amelia.  She  looked  as  happy 
as  a  rose-tree  in  sunshine. 

"I  say,  Dobbin,"  says  George,  "just  look  to  the  shawls  and 
things,  there's  a  good  fellow."  And  so  while  he  paired  off  with  Miss 
Sedley,  and  Jos  squeezed  through  the  gate  into  the  gardens  with 
Rebecca  at  his  side,  honest.  Dobbin  contertted  himself  by  giving  an 
arm  to  the  shawls,  and'^lyf' paying  at  the  door  for  the  whole  party. 

He  walked  very  modestly  behind  them.  He  was  not  willing  to 
spoil  sport.  About  Rebecca  and  Jos  he  did  not  care  a  fig.  But 
he  thought  Amelia  worthy  even  of  the  brilliant  George  Osborne, 
and  as  he  saw  that  good-looking  couple  threading  the  walks  to  the 
girl's  delight  and  wonder,  he  watched  her  artless  happiness  with  a 
sort  of  fatherly  pleasure.  Perhaps  he  felt  that  lie  would  have 
liked  to  have~somethmg  on  his  own  arm  besides  a  shawl  (the  people 
laughed  at  seeing  the  gawky  young  officer  carrying  this  female 
burthen) ;  but  William  Dobbin  was  very  little  addicted  to  selfish  j 
calculation  at  all ;  and  so  long  as  his  friend  was  enjoying  himself,/ 
how  should  he  be  discontented  1  And  the  truth  is,  that  of  all  the' 
delights  of  the  Gardens;  of  the  hundred  thousand  extra  lamps, 
which  were  always  lighted ;  the  fiddlers  in  cocked  hats,  who  played 
ravishing  melodies  under  the  gilded  cockle-shell  in  the  midst  of  the 
Gardens ;  the  singers,  both  of  comic  and  sentimental  ballads,  who 
charmed  the  ears  there  ;  the  country  dances,  formed  by  bouncing 
cockneys  and  cockney eswes,  and  executed  amidst  jumping,  thumping 


4S  ^  VANITY    FAIR 

and  laughter ;  the  signal  which  announced  that  Madame  Saqui  was 
about  to  mount  skyward  on  a  slack-rope  ascending  to  the  stars; 
the  hermit  that  always  sat  in  the  illuminated  hermitage ;  the  dark 
walks,  so  favourable  to  the  interviews  of  young  lovers ;  the  pots  of 
stout  handed  about  by  the  people  in  the  shabby  old  liveries ;  and 
the  twinkling  boxes,  in  which  the  happy  feasters  made-believe  to 
eat  slices  of  almost  invisible  ham ;  of  all  these  things,  and  of  the 
gentle  Simpson,  that  kind  smiling  idiot,  who,  I  dare  say,  presided 
even  then  over  the  place — Captain  WiUiam  Dobbin  did  not  take 
the  slightest  notice. 

He  carried  about  Amelia's  white  cashmere  shawl,  and  having 
attended  under  the  gilt  cockle-shell,  while  Mrs.  Salmon  performed 
the  Battle  of  Borodino  (a  savage  cantata  against  the  Corsican  up- 
start, who  had  lately  met  with  his  Russian  reverses) — Mr.  Dobbin 
tried  to  hum  it  as  he  walked  away,  and  found  he  was  humming — 
the  tune  which  Amelia  Sedley  sang  on  the  stairs,  as  she  came  down 
to  dinner. 

He  burst  out  laughing  at  himself;  for  the  truth  is,  he  could 
sing  no  better  than  an  owl. 

It  is  to  be  understood,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  our  young 
people,  being  in  parties  of  two  and  two,  made  the  most  solemn 
promises  to  keep  together  during  the  evening,  and  separated  in  ten 
minutes  afterwards.  Parties  at  VauxhaU  always  did  separate,  but 
'twas  only  to  meet  again  at  supper-time,  when  they  could  talk  of 
their  mutual  adventures  in  the  interval. 

What  were  the  adventures  of  Mr.  Osborne  and  Miss  Ameha? 
That  is  a  secret.  But  be  sure  of  this — they  were  perfectly  happy, 
and  correct  in  their  behaviour ;  and  as  they  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  being  together  any  time  these  fifteen  years,  their  tete-a-teU  offered 
no  particular  novelty. 

But  when  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  and  her  stout  companion  lost 
themselves  in  a  solitary  walk,  in  which  there  were  not  above  five 
score  more  of  couples  similarly  straying,  they  both  felt  that  the 
situation  was  extremely  tender  and  critical,  and  now  or  never  was 
the  moment.  Miss  Sharp  thought,  to  provoke  that  declaration  which 
was  trembUng  on  the  timid  lips  of  Mr.  Sedley.  They  had  previ- 
ously been  to  the  panorama  of  Moscow,  where  a  rude  fellow,  treading 
on  Miss  Sharp's  foot,  caused  her  to  fall  back  with  a  little  shriek 
into  the  arms  of  Mr.  Sedley,  and  this  little  incident  increased  the 
tenderness  and  confidence  of  that  gentleman  to  such  a  degree,  that 
he  told  her  several  of  his  favourite  Indian  stories  over  again  for,  at 
least,  the  sixth  time. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  India ! "  said  Rebecca. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  4^ 

^^ Should  you?"  said  Joseph,  with  a  most  killing  tenderness, 
and  was  no  doubt  about  to  follow  up  this  artful  interrogatory  by  a 
question  still  more  tender  (for  he  puffed  and  panted  a  great  deal, 
and  Rebecca's  hand,  which  was  placed  near  his  heart,  could  count 
the  feverish  pulsations  of  that  organ),  when,  oh,  provoking  !  the  bell 
rang  for  the  fireworks,  and,  a  great  scuffling  and  running  taking 
place,  these  interesting  lovers  were  obHged  to  follow  in  the  stream 
of  people. 

Captain  Dobbin  had  some  thoughts  of  joining  the  party  at 
supper :  as,  in  truth,  he  found  the  Vauxhall  amusements  not  par- 
ticularly lively — ^but  he  paraded  twice  before  the  box  where  the 
now  united  couples  were  met,  and  nobody  took  any  notice  of  him. 
Covers  were  laid  for  four.  The  mated  pairs  were  prattling  away 
quite  happily,  and  Dobbin  knew  he  was  as  clean  forgotten  as  if  he 
had  never  existed  in  this  world. 

"  I  should  only  be,  de  tropjy  said  the  Captain,  looking  at  them 
rather  wistfully.  "  I'd  besl^go  and  talk  to  the  hennit," — and  so 
he  strolled  off  out  of  the  hum  of  men,  and  noise,  and  clatter  of  the 
banquet,  into  the  dark  walk,  at  the  end  of  which  lived  that  well- 
known  pasteboard  Solitary.  It  wasn't  very  good  fun  for  Dobbin — 
and,  indeed,  to  be  alone  at  Vauxhall,  I  have  found,  from  my  own 
experience,  to  be  one  of  the  most  dismal  sports  ever  entered  into  by 
a  bachelor. 

The  two  couples  were  perfectly  happy  then  in  theu*  box ;  where 
the  most  delightful  and  intimate  conversation  took  place.  Jos  was 
in  his  glory,  ordering  about  the  waiters  with  great  majesty.  He 
made  the  salad;  and  uncorked  the  champagne;  and  carved  the 
chickens ;  and  ate  and  drank  the  greater  part  of  the  refreshments  on 
the  tables.  Finally,  he  insisted  upon  having  a  bowl  of  rack  punch ; 
everybody  had  rack  punch  at  Vauxhall.     "  Waiter,  rack  punch." 

That  bowl  of  rack  punch  was  the  cause  of  all  this  history.  And^ 
why  not  a  bowl  of  rack  punch  as  well  as  any  other  cause  ?  Was  ( 
not  a  bowl  of  prussic  acid  the  cause  of  Fair  Rosamond's  retiring 
from  the  world  1  Was  not  a  bowl  of  wine  the  cause  of  the  demise 
of  Alexander  the  Great,  or,  at  least,  does  not  Dr.  Lempri^re  say  so  I. 
— so  did  this  bowl  of  rack  punch  influence  the  fates  of  aU  the  prin- ; 
cipal  characters  in  this  "  Novel  without  a  Hero,"  which  we  are  now  • 
relating.  It  influenced  their  life,  although  most  of  them  did  notj 
taste  a  drop  of  it. 

The  young  ladies  did  not  drink  it ;  Osborne  did  not  like  it ;  and 
the  consequence  was  that  Jos,  that  fat  gourmand^  drank  up  the 
whole  contents  of  the  bowl ;  and  the  consequence  of  his  drinking 
up  the  whole  contents  of  the  bowl  was,  a  liveliness  which  at  first 
was  astonishing,  and  then  became  ahnost  painful ;  for  he  talked  and 


50  VANITY    FAIR 

laughed  so  loud  as  to  bring  scores  of  listeners  round  the  box,  much 
to  the  confusion  of  the  innocent  party  within  it ;  and,  volunteering 
to  sing  a  song  (which  he  did  in  that  maudlin  high  key  peculiar  to 
gentlemen  in  an  inebriated  state),  he  almost  drew  away  the  audience 
who  were  gathered  round  the  musicians  in  the  gilt  scollop-shell,  and 
received  from  his  hearers  a  great  deal  of  applause. 

"  Brayvo,  Fat  un  ! "  said  one ;  "  Angcore,  Daniel  Lambert !  " 
said  another ;  "  What  a  figure  for  the  tight-rope ! "  exclaimed 
another  wag,  to  the  inexpressible  alarm  of  the  ladies,  and  the  great 
anger  of  Mr.  Osborne. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Jos,  let  us  get  up  and  go,"  cried  that 
gentleman,  and  the  young  women  rose. 

"  Stop,  my  dearest  diddle-diddle-darling,"  shouted  Jos,  now  as 
bold  as  a  lion,  and  clasping  Miss  Rebecca  round  the  waist.  Rebecca 
started,  but  she  could  not  get  away  her  hand.  The  laughter  outside 
redoubled.  Jos  continued  to  drink,  to  make  love,  and  to  sing ;  and, 
winking  and  waving  his  glass  gracefully  to  his  audience,  challenged 
all  or  any  to  come  in  and  take  a  share  of  his  punch. 

Mr.  Osborne  was  just  on  the  point  of  knocking  down  a  gentleman 
in  top-boots,  who  proposed  to  take  advantage  of  this  invitation,  and 
a  commotion  seemed  to  be  inevitable,  when  by  the  greatest  good  luck 
a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Dobbin,  who  had  been  walking  about 
the  Gardens,  stepped  up  to  the  box.  "  Be  off,  you  fools  !  "  said  this 
gentleman — shouldering  off  a  great  number  of  the  crowd,  who  vanished 
presently  before  his  cocked  hat  and  fierce  appearance — and  he  entered 
the  box  in  a  most  agitated  state. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  Dobbin,  where  have  you  been  ? "  Osborne  said, 
seizing  the  white  cashmere  shawl  from  his  friend's  arm,  and  huddling 
up  Amelia  in  it. — "  Make  yourself  useful,  and  take  charge  of  Jos 
here,  whilst  I  take  the  ladies  to  the  carriage." 

Jos  was  for  rising  to  interfere — but  a  single  push  from  Osborne's 
finger  sent  him  puffing  back  into  his  seat  again,  and  the  lieutenant 
was  enabled  to  remove  the  ladies  in  safety.  Jos  kissed  his  hand  to 
them  as  they  retreated,  and  hiccupped  out  "  Bless  you  !  Bless  you  !  " 
Then,  seizing  Captain  Dobbin's  hand,  and  weeping  in  the  most  pitiful 
way,  he  confided  to  that  gentleman  the  secret  of  bis  loves.  He  adored 
that  girl  who  had  just  gone  out ;  he  had  broken  her  heart,  he  knew 
he  had,  by  his  conduct ;  he  would  marry  her  next  morning  at  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square ;  he'd  knock  up  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury at  Lambeth  :  he  would,  by  Jove  !  and  have  him  in  readiness  ; 
and,  acting  on  this  hint.  Captain  Dobbin  shrewdly  induced  him  to 
leave  the  Gardens  and  hasten  to  Lambeth  Palace,  and,  when  once  out 
of  the  gates,  easily  conveyed  Mr.  Jos  Sedley  into  a  hackney-coach, 
which  deposited  him  safely  at  his  lodgings. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  51 

George  Osborne  conducted  the  girls  home  in  safety :  and  when 
the  door  was  closed  upon  them,  and  as  he  walked  across  Russell 
Square,  laughed  so  as  to  astonish  the  watchman.  Amelia  looked 
very  ruefully  at  her  friend,  as  they  went  upstairs,  and  kissed  her, 
and  went  to  bed  without  any  more  talking. 

"  He  must  propose  to-morrow,"  thought  Rebecca.  "  He  called  me 
his  soul's  darling,  four  times;  he  squeezed  my  hand  in  Amelia's 
presence.  He  must  propose  to-morrow."  And  so  thought  Amelia, 
too.  And  I  dare  say  she  thought  of  the  dress  she  was  to  wear  as 
bridesmaid,  and  of  the  presents  which  she  should  make  to  her  nice 
little  sister-in-law,  and  of  a  subsequent  ceremony  in  which  she  herself 
might  play  a  principal  part,  &c.,  and  &c.,  and  &c.,  and  &c. 

Oh,  ignorant  young  creatures !  How  little  do  you  know  the 
effect  of  rack  punch  !  What  is  the  rack  in  the  punch,  at  night,  to 
the  rack  in  the  head  of  a  morning  1  To  this  truth  I  can  vouch  as  a 
man ;  there  is  no  headache  in  the  world  like  that  caused  by  Vaux- 
hall  punch.  Through  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  I  can  remember 
the  consequence  of  two  glasses  ! — two  wine-glasses  ! — but  two,  upon 
the  honour  of  a  gentleman ;  and  Joseph  Sedley,  who  had  a  liver 
complaint,  had  swallowed  at  least  a  quart  of  the  abominable 
mixture. 

That  next  morning,  which  Rebecca  thought  was  to  dawn  upon  her 
fortune,  found  Sedley  groaning  in  agonies  which  the  pen  refuses  to 
describe.  Soda-water  was  not  invented  yet.  Small  beer — will  it  be 
believed  ! — was  the  only  drink  with  which  unhappy  gentlemen  soothed 
the  fever  of  their  previous  night's  potation.  With  this  mild  beverage 
before  him,  George  Osborne  found  the  ex-collector  of  Boggley  WoUah 
groaning  on  the  sofa  at  his  lodgings.  Dobbin  was  already  in  the 
room,  good-naturedly  tending  his  patient  of  the  night  before.  The 
two  officers,  looking  at  the  prostrate  Bacchanalian,  and  askance  at 
each  other,  exchanged  the  most  frightful  sympathetic  grins.  Even 
Sedley's  valet,  the  most  solemn  and  correct  of  gentlemen,  with  the 
muteness  and  gravity  of  an  undertaker,  could  hardly  keep  his 
countenance  in  order,  as  he  looked  at  his  unfortunate  master. 

"  Mr.  Sedley  was  uncommon  wild  last  night,  sir,"  he  whispered 
in  confidence  to  Osborne,  as  the  latter  mounted  the  stair.  "  He 
wanted  to  fight  the  'ackney-coachman,  sir.  The  Capting  was  obliged 
to  bring  him  upstairs  in  his  harms  like  a  babby."  A  momentary 
smile  flickered  over  Mr.  Brush's  features  as  he  spoke;  instantly, 
however,  they  relapsed  into  their  usual  unfathomable  calm,  as  he 
flung  open  the  drawing-room  door  and  announced  "  Mr.  Hosbin." 

"  How  are  you,  Sedley  1 "  that  young  wag  began,  after  surveying 
hiB  victim.     "  No  bones  broke  1     There's  a  hackney-coachman  down- 

P 


52  VANITY    FAIR 

stairs  with  a  Wack  eye,  and  a  tied-up  head,  vowing  he'll  have  the  law 
of  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean, — law  1 "  Sedley  faintly  asked. 

"  For  thrashing  him  last  night — didn't  he,  Dobbin  'i  You  hit  out, 
sir,  like  Molyneux.  The  watchman  says  he  never  saw  a  fellow  go 
down  so  straight.     Ask  Dobbin." 

"You  did  have  a  round  with  the  coachman,"  Captain  Dobbin 
said,  "  and  showed  plenty  of  fight  too." 

"  And  that  fellow  with  the  white  coat  at  Vauxhall !  How  Jos 
drove  at  him !  How  the  women  screamed !  By  Jove,  sir,  it  did 
my  heart  good  to  see  you.  I  thought  you  civilians  had  no  pluck ; 
but  ril  never  get  in  your  way  when  you  are  in  your  cups,  Jos." 

"  I  believe  I'm  very  terrible,  when  I'm  roused,"  ejaculated  Jos 
from  the  sofa,  and  made  a  grimace  so  dreary  and  ludicrous,  that 
the  Captain's  politeness  could  restrain  him  no  longer,  and  he  and 
Osborne  fired  off  a  ringing  volley  of  laughter. 

Osborne  pursued  his  advantage  pitilessly.  He  thought  Jos  a 
milksop.  He  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  the  marriage-question 
pending  between  Jos  and  Rebecca,  and  was  not  over  well  pleased 
that  a  member  of  a  family  into  which  he,  George  Osborne,  of 
the  — th,  was  going  to  marry,  should  make  a  mesalliance  with  a 
little  nobody — a  little  upstart  governess.  "You  hit,  you  poor  old 
fellow  ! "  said  Osborne.  "  You  terrible  !  Why,  man,  you  couldn't 
stand — you  made  everybody  laugh  in  the  Gardens,  though  you  were 
crying  yourself.  You  were  maudlin,  Jos.  Don't  you  remember 
singing  a  song?" 

"A  whatr'  Jos  asked. 

"A  sentimental  song,  and  calling  Rosa,  Rebecca,  what's  her 
name,  Amelia's  little  Mend — your  dearest  diddle-diddle-darling  ? " 
And  this  ruthless  young  fellow,  seizing  hold  of  Dobbin's  hand,  acted 
over  the  scene,  to  the  horror  of  the  original  performer,  and  in  spite 
of  Dobbin's  good-natured  entreaties  to  him  to  have  mercy. 

"  Why  should  I  spare  him  1 "  Osborne  said  to  his  friend's  remon- 
strances, when  they  quitted  the  invalid,  leaving  him  under  the  hands 
of  Doctor  GoUop.  "  What  the  deuce  right  has  he  to  give  himself 
his  patronising  airs,  and  make  fools  of  us  at  Vauxhall  ?  Who's  this 
little  school-girl  that  is  ogling  and  making  love  to  him  1  Hang  it, 
the  femily's  low  enough  already,  without  her.  A  governess  is  all 
very  well,  but  I'd  rather  have  a  lady  for  my  sister-in-law.  I'm  a 
liberal  man;  but  I've  proper  pride,  and  know  my 'own  station:  let 
her  know  hers.  And  I'll  take  down  that  great  hectoring  Nabob, 
and  prevent  him  from  being  made  a  greater  fool  than  he  is.  That's 
why  I  told  him  to  look  out,  lest  she  brought  an  action  against  him." 

"I  suppose    you  know    best,"   Dobbin   said,   though  rather 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  53 

dubiously.  "You  always  were  a  Tory,  and  your  family's  one  of 
the  oldest  in  England.     But " 

"  Come  and  see  the  girls,  and  make  love  to  Miss  Sharp  your- 
self," the  lieutenant  here  interrupted^his  friend ;  but  Captain  Dobbin 
declined  to  join  Osborne  in  his  daily  visit  to  the  young  ladies  in 
Kussell  Square. 

As  George  walked  down  Southampton  Row,  from  Holbom,  he 
laughed  as  he  saw,  at  the  Sedley  Mansion,  in  two  different  stories, 
two  heads  on  the  look-out. 

The  fact  is.  Miss  Amelia,  in  the  drawing-room  balcony,  was  look- 
ing very  eagerly  towards  the  opposite  side  of  the  Square,  where  Mr. 
Osborne  dwelt,  on  the  watch  for  the  lieutenant  himself;  and  Miss 
Sharp,  from  her  little  bedroom  on  the  second-floor,  was  in  observa- 
tion until  Mr.  Joseph's  great  form  should  heave  in  sight. 

"  Sister  Anne  is  on  the  watch-tower,"  said  he  to  Amelia,  "  but 
there's  nobody  coming ; "  and  laughing  and  enjoying  the  joke  hugely, 
he  described  in  the  most  ludicrous  terms,  to  Miss  Sedley,  the  dismal 
condition  of  her  brother. 

"  I  think  it's  very  cruel  of  you  to  laugh,  George,"  she  said,  look- 
ing particularly  unhappy ;  but  George  only  laughed  the  more  at  her 
piteous  and  discomfited  mien,  persisted  in  thinking  the  joke  a  most 
diverting  one,  and  when  Miss  Sharp  came  downstairs,  bantered  her 
with  a  great  deal  of  liveliness  upon  the  effect  of  her  charms  on  the 
fat  civilian. 

"  0  Miss  Sharp  !  if  you  could  but  see  him  this  morning,"  he  said 
— "  moaning  in  his  flowered  dressing-gown — writhing  on  his  sofa ; 
if  you  could  but  have  seen  him  lolling  out  his  tongue  to  Gollop  the 
apothecary." 

"  See  whom  1 "  said  Miss  Sharp. 

"  Whom  ?  0  whom  ?  Captain  Dobbin,  of  course,  to  whom  we 
were  all  so  attentive,  by  the  way,  last  night." 

"We  were  very  unkind  to  him,"  Emmy  said,  blushing  very 
much.     "  I — I  quite  forgot  him." 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  cried  Osborne,  still  on  the  laugh.  "  One 
can't  be  always  thinking  about  Dobbin,  you  know,  Amelia.  Can 
(Hie,  Miss  Sharp  1 " 

"Except  when  he  overset  the  glass  of  wine  at  dinner,"  Miss 
Sharp  said,  with  a  haughty  air  and  a  toss  of  the  head,  "  I  never  gave 
the  existence  of  Captain  Dobbin  one  single  moment's  consideration." 

"  Very  good.  Miss  Sharp,  I'll  tell  him,"  Osborne  said ;  and  as 

he  spoke  Miss  Sharp  began  to  have  a  feeling  of  distrust  and  hatred 

towards  this  young  officer,  which  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  having 

I  inspired.     "He  is  to  make  fun  of  me,  is  he ? "  thought  Rebecca. 

"  Has  he  been  laughing  about  me  to  Joseph  t    Has  he  frightened 


54  VANITY.  FAIR 

him  ?     Perhaps  he  won't  come." — A  film  passed  over  her  eyes,  and 
her  heart  beat  quite  quick. 

"  You're  always  joking,"  said  she,  smiling  as  innocently  as  she 
could.  "  Joke  away,  Mr.  George ;  there's  nobody  to  defend  me." 
And  George  Osborne,  as  she  walked  away — and  Amelia  looked 
reprovingly  at  him — felt  some  little  manly  compunction  for -haAong^ 
inflicted  any  unnecessary  unkindness  upon  this  helpless  creature.  ^ 
"  My  dearest  Amelia,"  said  he,  "  you  are  too  good — too  kind.  You' 
don't  know  the  world.  I  do.  And  your  little  friend  Miss  Sharp 
must  learn  her  station." 

"  Don't  you  think  Jos  will " 

"Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  don't  know.  He  may,  or  may 
not.  I'm  not  his  master.  I  only  know  he  is  a  very  foolish,  vain 
fellow,  and  put  my  dear  little  girl  into  a  very  painful  and  awkward 
position  last  night.  My  dearest  diddle-diddle-darling  ! "  He  was 
off  laughing  again ;  and  he  did  it  so  drolly  that  Emmy  laughed  too. 

All  that  day  Jos  never  came.  But  Amelia  had  no  fear  about 
this ;  for  the  little  schemer  had  actually  sent  away  the  page,  Mr. 
Sambo's  aide-de-camp,  to  Mr.  Joseph's  lodgings,  to  ask  for  some 
book  he  had  promised,  and  how  he  was;  and  the  reply  through 
Jos's  man,  Mr.  Brush,  was,  that  his  master  was  ill  in  bed,  and  had 
just  had  the  doctor  with  him.  He  must  come  to-morrow,  she 
thought,  but  she  never  had  the  courage  to  speak  a  word  on  the 
subject  to  Rebecca ;  nor  did  that  young  woman  herself  allude  to  it 
in  any  way  during  the  whole  evening  after  the  night  at  Vauxhall. 

The  next  day,  however,  as  the  two  young  ladies  sate  on  the  sofa, 
pretending  to  work,  or  to  write  letters,  or  to  read  novels,  Sambo 
came  into  the  room  with  his  usual  engaging  grin,  with  a  packet 
under  his  arm,  and  a  note  on  a  tray.  "  Note  from  Mr.  Jos,  Miss," 
says  Sambo. 

How  Amelia  trembled  as  she  opened  it ! 

So  it  ran  : — 

"Dear  Amelia, — I  send  you  the  Orphan  of  the  Forest.  I 
was  too  ill  t®  come  yesterday.  I  leave  town  to-day  for  Cheltenham. 
Pray  excuse  me,  if  you  can,  to  the  amiable  Miss  Sharp,  for  my  con- 
duct at  Vauxhall,  and  entreat  her  to  pardon  and  forget  every  word 
I  may  have  uttered  when  excited  by  that  fatal  supper.  As  soon  as 
I  have  recovered,  for  my  health  is  very  much  shaken,  I  shall  go  to 
Scotland  for  some  months,  and  am,  truly  yours, 

"Jos.  Sedley." 

It  was  the  death-warrant.  All  was  over.  Anielia  did  not  dare 
to  look  at  Rebecca's  pale  face  and  burning  eyes,  but  she  dropped 


^  •  I'  jk  ^  I  *^ 

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A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  JJ 

the  letter  into  her  friend's  lap ;  and  got  up,  and  went  upstairs  to 
her  room,  and  cried  her  little  heart  out. 

Blenkinsop,  the  housekeeper,  there  sought  her  presently  with 
consolation,  on  whose  shoulder  An>elia  wept  confidentially,  and  re- 
lieved herself  a  good  deal.  "  Don't  take  on.  Miss.  I  didn't  like  to 
tell  you.  But  none  of  us  in  the  house  have  liked  her  except  at 
fust.  I  sor  her  with  my  own  eyes  reading  your  Ma's  letters.  Pinner 
says  she's  always  about  your  trinket-box  and  drawers,  and  every- 
body's drawers,  and  she's  sure  she's  put  your  white  ribbing  into 
her  box." 

"  I  gave  it  her,  I  gave  it  her,"  Amelia  said. 

But  this  did  not  alter  Mrs.  Blenkinsop's  opinion  of  Miss  Sharp. 
"I  don't  trust  them  governesses,  Pinner,"  she  remarked  to  the 
maid.  "They  give  themselves  the  hairs  and  hupstarts  of  ladies, 
and  their  wages  is  no  better  than  you  nor  me." 

It  now  became  clear  to  every  soul  in  the  house,  except  poor 
Amelia,  that  Rebecca  should  take  her  departure,  and  high  and  low 
(always  with  the  one  exception)  agreed  that  that  event  should  take 
place  as  speedily  as  possible.  Our  good  child  ransacked  all  her 
drawers,  cupboards,  reticules,  and  gimcrack  boxes — passed  in  review 
all  her  gowns,  fichus,  tags,  bobbins,  laces,  silk  stockings,  and  fallals 
— selecting  this  thing  and  that  and  the  other,  to  make  a  little  heap 
for  Rebecca.  And  going  to  her  papa,  that  generous  British  mer- 
chant, who  had  promised  to  give  her  as  many  guineas  as  she  was 
years  old — she  begged  the  old  gentleman  to  give  the  money  to  dear 
Rebecca,  who  must  want  it,  while  she  lacked  for  nothing. 

She  even  made  George  Osborne  contribute,  and  nothing  loth 
(for  he  was  as  free-handed  a  young  fellow  as  any  in  the  army),  he 
went  to  Bond  Street,  and  bought  the  best  hat  and  spencer  that 
money  could  buy. 

"  That's  George's  present  to  you,  Rebecca  dear,"  said  Amelia, 
quite  proud  of  the  bandbox  conveying  these  gifts.  "  What  a  taste 
he  has  !     There's  nobody  like  him." 

"  Nobody,"  Rebecca  answered.     "  How  thankful  I  am  to  him  ! 
She  was  thinking  in  her  heart,  "  It  was  George  Osborne  who  pre- 
vented my  marriage." — And  she  loved  George  Osborne  accordingly. j 

She  made  her  preparations  for  departure  with  great  equanimity  A 
and  accepted  all  the  kind  little  Amelia's  presents,  after  just  the] 
proper  degree  of  hesitation  and  reluctance.  She  vowed  eternal  grati- 
tude to  Mrs.  Sedley,  of  course ;  but  did  not  intrude  herself  upon  that 
good  lady  too  much,  who  was  embarrassed,  and  evidently  wishing 
to  avoid  her.  She  kissed  Mr.  Sedley's  hand,  when  he  presente 
her  with  the  purse ;  and  asked  permission  to  consider  him  for  the 
future  as  her  kind,  kind  friend  and  protector.    Her  behaviour  was  so 


56  VANITY    FAIR 

affecting  that  he  was  going  to  write  her  a  cheque  for  twenty  pounds 
more ;  but  he  restrained  his  feelings :  the  carriage  was  in  waiting 
to  take  him  to  dinner,  so  he  tripped  away  with  a  "  God  bless  you, 
my  dear ;  always  come  here  when  you  come  to  town,  you  know. — 
Drive  to  the  Mansion  House,  James." 

Finally  came  the  parting  with  Miss  Amelia,  over  which  picture 
I  intend  to  throw  a  veil.  But  after  a  scene  in  which  one  person 
was  in  earnest  and  the  other  a  perfect  performer-rafter  the  tenderest 
caresses,  the  most  pathetic  tears,  the  smelling-bottle,  and  some  of 
the  very  best  feelings  of  the  heart,  had  been  called  into  requisition — 
Rebecca  and  Amelia  parted,  the  former  vowing  to  love  her  friend 
for  ever  and  ever  and  ever. 


J" 


CHAPTER  Vn 

CRAJFLEY  OF  QUEEN'S  CRAWLEY 

A  MONG  the  most  respected  of  the  names  beginning  in  0, 
l\  which  the  Court-Guide  contained,  in  the  year  18 — ,  was 
-*  *-  that  of  Crawley,  Sir  Pitt,  Baronet,  Great  Gaimt  Street, 
and  Queen's  Crawley,  Hants.  This  honourable  name  had  figured 
constantly  also  in  the  Parliamentary  list  for  many  years,  in  con- 
junction with  that  of  a  number  of  other  worthy  gentlemen  who 
sat  in  turns  for  the  borough. 

It  is  related,  with  regard  to  the  borough  of  Queen's  Crawley, 
that  Queen  Elizabeth  in  one  of  her  progresses,  stopping  at  Crawley 
to  breakfast,  was  so  delighted  with  some  remarkably  fine  Hampshire 
beer  which  was  then  presented  to  her  by  the  Crawley  of  the  day 
(a  handsome  gentleman  with  a  trim  beard  and  a  good  leg),  that  she 
forthwith  erected  Crawley  into  a  borough  to  send  two  members  to 
Parliament ;  and  the  place,  fi-om  the  day  of  that  illustrious  visit, 
took  the  name  of  Queen's  Crawley,  which  it  holds  up  to  the  present 
moment.  And  though,  by  the  lapse  of  time,  and  those  mutations 
which  age  produces  in  empires,  cities,  and  boroughs.  Queen's  Crawley 
was  no  longer  so  populous  a  place  as  it  had  been  in  Queen  Bess's 
time — nay,  was  come  down  to  that  condition  of  borough  which 
used  to  be  denominated  rotten — yet,  as  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  would  say 
with  perfect  justice  in  his  elegant  way,  "  Rotten !  be  hanged — it 
produces  me  a  good  fifteen  hundred  a  year." 

Sir  Pitt  Crawley  (named  after  the  great  Commoner)  was  the  son 
of  Walpole  Crawley,  first  Baronet,  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing- Wax 
Office  in  the  reign  of  George  II.,  when  he  was  impeached  for  pecula- 
tion, as  were  a  great  number  of  other  honest  gentlemen  of  those 
days;  and  Walpole  Crawley  was,  as  need  scarcely  be  said,  son 
of  John  Churchill  Crawley,  named  after  the  celebrated  military 
commander  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne.  The  family  tree  (which 
hangs  up  at  Queen's  Crawley)  furthermore  mentions  Charles  Stuart, 
afterwards  called  Barebones  Crawley,  son  of  the  Crawley  of  James 
the  First's  time;  and  finally,  Queen  Elizabeth's  Crawley,  who  ifl 
represented  as  the  foreground  of  the  picture  in  his  forked  beard  and 
armour.     Out  of  his  waistcoat,  as  usual,  grows  a  tree,  on  the  main 


58  VANITY    FAIR 

branches  of  which  the  above  illustrious  names  are  inscribed.  Close 
by  the  name  of  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  Baronet  (the  subject  of  the  present 
memoir),  are  written  that  of  his  brother,  the  Reverend  Bute  Crawley 
(the  great  Commoner  was  in  disgrace  when  the  reverend  gentleman 
was  bom),  rector  of  Crawley-cum-Snailby,  and  of  various  other  male 
and  female  members  of  the  Crawley  family. 

Sir  Pitt  was  first  married  to  Grizzel,  sixth  daughter  of  Mungo 
Binkie,  Lord  Binkie,  and  cousin,  in  consequence,  of  Mr.  Dundas. 
She  brought  him  two  sons :  Pitt,  named  not  so  much  after  his 
father  as  after  the  heaven-bom  minister;  and  Rawdon,  from  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  friend,  whom  his  Majesty  George  IV.  forgot  so 
completely.  Many  years  after  her  ladyship's  demise.  Sir  Pitt  led 
'to  the  altar  Rosa,  daughter  of  Mr.  G.  Dawson,  of  Mudbury,  by 
whom  he  had  two  daughters,  for  whose  benefit  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp 
was  now  engaged  as  govemess.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  young 
lady  was  come  into  a  family  of  very  genteel  connections,  and  was 
about  to  move  in  a  much  more  distinguished  circle  than  that  humble 
one  which  she  had  just  quitted  in  Russell  Square. 

She  had  received  her  orders  to  join  her  pupils,  in  a  note 
which  was  written  upon  an  old  envelope,  and  which  contained 
the  following  words  : — 

"  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  begs  Miss  Sharp  and  baggidge  may  be  hear 
on  Tuesday,  as  I  leaf  for  Queen's  Crawley  to-morrow  morning  erly. 

"Great  Gaunt  Street." 

Rebecca  had  never  seen  a  baronet,  as  far  as  she  knew,  and  as 
soon  as  she  had  taken  leave  of  AmeUa,  and  counted  the  guineas  which 
good-natured  Mr.  Sedley  had  put  into  a  purse  for  her,  and  as  soon  as 
she  had  done  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  (which  opera- 
tion she  concluded  the  very  moment  the  carriage  had  tumed  the 
corner  of  the  street),  she  began  to  depict  in  her  own  mind  what  a 
baronet  must  be.  "I  wonder,  does  he  wear  a  star ? "  thought  she, 
"  or  is  it  only  lords  that  wear  stars  1  But  he  will  be  very  handsomely 
dressed  in  a  court  suit,  with  ruffles,  and  his  hair  a  little  powdered, 
like  Mr.  Wroughton  at  Covent  Garden.  I  suppose  he  will  be  awfully 
proud,  and  that  I  shall  be  treated  most  contemptuously.  Still  I 
must  bear  my  hard  lot  as  well  as  I  can — at  least,  I  shall  be  amongst 
gentlefolks,  and  not  with  vulgar  city  people  : "  and  she  fell  to  think- 
ing of  her  Russell  Square  friends  with  that  very  same  philosophical 
bitterness  with  which,  in  a  certain  apologue,  the  fox  is  represented 
as  speaking  of  the  grapes. 

Having  passed  through  Gaunt  Square  into  Great  Gaunt  Street, 
the  carriage  at  length  stopped  at  a  tall  gloomy  house  between  two 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  59 

other  tall  gloomy  houses,  each  with  a  hatchment  over  the  middle 
drawing-room  window ;  as  is  the  custom  of  houses  in  Great  Gaunt 
Street,  in  which  gloomy  locality  death  seems  to  reign  perpetual.  The 
shutters  of  the  first-floor  windows  o^ir  Pitt's  mansion  were  closed — 
those  of  the  dining-room  were  partially  open,  and  the  blinds  neatly 
covered  up  in  old  newspapers. 

John,  the  groom,  who  had  driven  the  carriage  alone,  did  not  care 
to  descend  to  ring  the  bell ;  and  so  prayed  a  passing  milk-boy  to 
perform  that  office  for  him.  When  the  bell  was  rung,  a  head  appeared 
between  the  interstices  of  the  dining-room  shutters,  and  the  door  was 
opened  by  a  man  in  drab  breeches  and  gaiters,  with  a  dirty  old  coat, 
a  foul  old  neckcloth  lashed  round  his  bristly  neck,  a  shining  bald 
head,  a  leering  red  face,  a  pair  of  twinkling  grey  eyes,  and  a  mouth 
perpetually  on  the  grin. 

"This  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's?"  says  John,  from  the  box. 

"  Ees,"  says  the  man  at  the  door,  with  a  nod. 

"  Hand  down  these  'ere  trunks  then,"  said  John. 

"  Hand  'n  down  yourself,"  said  the  porter. 

"Don't  you  see  I  can't  leave  my  bosses'?  Come,  bear  a  hand, 
my  fine  feller,  and  Miss  will  give  you  some  beer,"  said  John,  with  a 
horse-laugh,  for  he  was  no  longer  respectful  to  Miss  Sharp,  as  her 
connection  with  the  family  was  broken  off",  and  as  she  had  given 
nothing  to  the  servants  on  coming  away. 

The  bald-headed  man,  taking  his  hands  out  of  his  breeches 
pockets,  advanced  on  this  summons,  and  throwing  Miss  Sharp's 
trunk  over  his  shoulder,  carried  it  into  the  house. 

"  Take  this  basket  and  shawl,  if  you  please,  and  open  the  door," 
said  Miss  Sharp,  and  descended  from  the  caniage  in  much  indigna- 
tion. "  I  shall  write  to  Mr.  Sedley  and  inform  him  of  your  conduct," 
said  she  to  the  groom. 

"Don't,"  replied  that  fimctionary  "I  hope  you've  forgot  nothink? 
Miss  'Melia's  gownds — have  you  got  them — as  the  lady's-maid  was 
to  have  'ad  ?  I  hope  they'll  fit  you.  Shut  the  door,  Jim,  you'll  get 
no  good  out  of  'er,"  continued  John,  pointing  with  his  thumb  towards 
Miss  Sharp :  "  a  bad  lot,  I  tell  you,  a  bad  lot,"  and  so  saying,  Mr. 
Sedley's  groom  drove  away.  The  truth  is,  he  was  attached  to  the 
lady's-maid  in  question,  and  indignant  that  she  should  have  been 
robbed  of  her  perquisites. 

On  entering  the  dining-room,  by  the  orders  of  the  individual  in 
gaiters,  Rebecca  found  that  apartment  not  more  cheerful  than  such 
rooms  usually  are,  when  genteel  families  are  out  of  town.  The 
faithful  chambers  seem,  as  it  were,  to  mourn  the  absence  of  their 
mastei-s.  The  turkey  carpet  has  rolled  itself  up,  and  retired  sulkily 
under  the  sideboard  :  the  pictm-es  have  hidden  their  faces  behind  old 


66  VANITY    FAIR 

sheets  of  brt>wn  paper ;  the  ceiling  lamp  is  muffled  up  in  a  dismal 
sack  of  brown  hoUand  :  the  window-curtains  have  disappeared  imder 
all  sorts  of  shabby  envelopes  :  the  marble  bust  of  Sir  Walpole  Crawley 
is  looking  from  its  black  comer  at  the  bare  boards  and  the  oiled  fire- 
irons,  and  the  empty  card-racks  over  the  mantelpiece :  the  cellaret 
has  lurked  away  behind  the  carpet :  the  chairs  are  turned  up  heads 
and  tails  along  the  walls  :  and  in  the  dark  corner  opposite  the  statue 
is  an  old-fashioned  crabbed  knife-box,  locked  and  sitting  on  a  dumb 
waiter. 

Two  kitchen  chairs,  and  a  round  table,  and  an  attenuated  old 
poker  and  tongs  were,  however,  gathered  round  the  fire-place,  as 
was  a  saucepan  over  a  feeble  sputtering  fire.  There  was  a  bit  of 
cheese  and  bread,  and  a  tin  candlestick  on  the  table,  and  a  little  black 
porter  in  a  pint-pot. 

"  Had  your  dinner,  I  suppose  1  It  is  not  too  warm  for  you  ? 
Like  a  drop  of  beer  ] " 

"  Where  is  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  1 "  said  Miss  Sharp  majestically. 

"  He,  he  !  I'm  Sir  Pitt  Crawley.  Reklect  you  owe  me  a  pint 
for  bringing  down  yom-  luggage.  He,  he  !  Ask  Tinker  if  I  aynt.  Mrs. 
Tinker,  Miss  Sharp ;  Miss  Governess,  Mrs.  Charwoman.    Ho,  ho  ! " 

The  lady  addressed  as  Mrs.  Tinker,  at  this  moment  made  her 
appearance  with  a  pipe  and  a  paper  of  tobacco,  for  which  she  had 
been  despatched  a  minute  before  Miss  Sharp's  arrival ;  and  she  handed 
the  articles  over  to  Sir  Pitt,  who  had  taken  his  seat  by  the  fire. 

" Where's  the  farden ? "  said  he.  "I  gave  you  three-halfpence. 
Where's  the  change,  old  Tinker  ? " 

"  There ! "  replied  Mrs.  Tinker,  flinging  down  the  coin ;  "  it's 
only  baronets  as  cares  about  farthings." 

"  A  farthing  a  day  is  seven  shillings  a  year,"  answered  the  M.P. ; 
"  seven  shillings  a  year  is  the  interest  of  seven  guineas.  Take  care 
of  your  farthings,  old  Tinker,  and  your  guineas  will  come  quite  nat'ral." 

"You  may  be  sin-e  it's  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  young  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Tinker  surlily;  "because  he  looks  to  his  farthings.  You'll 
know  him  better  afore  long." 

"  And  like  me  none  the  worse.  Miss  Sharp,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, with  an  air  almost  of  politeness.  "  I  must  be  just  before  I'm 
generous." 

"  He  never  gave  away  a  farthing  in  his  life,"  growled  Tinker. 

"  Never,  and  never  will :  it's  against  my  principle.  Go  and  get 
another  chair  from  the  kitchen,  Tinker,  if  you  want  to  sit  down  ; 
and  then  we'll  have  a  bit  of  supper." 

Presently  the  Baronet  plunged  a  fork  into  the  saucepan  on  the 
fire,  and  withdrew  from  the  pot  a  piece  of  tripe  and  an  onion,  which 
be  divided  into  pretty  equal  portions,  and  of  which  he  partook  with 


REBECCA    MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE   WITH    A   LIVE    BARONET. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  Oi 

Mrs.  Tinker.  "  You  see,  Miss  Sharp,  when  I'm  not  here  Tinker's  on 
board  wages  :  when  I'm  in  town  she  dines  with  the  family.  Haw  I 
haw !  I'm  glad  Miss  Sharp's  not  hungry,  ain't  you,  Tink  ? "  And 
they  fell-to  upon  their  frugal  supper. 

After  supper  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  began  to  smoke  his  pipe ;  and 
when  it  became  quite  dark,  he  lighted  the  rushlight  in  the  tin  candle- 
stick, and  producing  from  an  interminable  pocket  a  huge  mass  of 
papers,  began  reading  them,  and  putting  them  in  order. 

"  I'm  here  on  law  business,  my  dear,  and  that's  how  it  happens 
that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  such  a  pretty  travelling  companion 
to-morrow." 

"  He's  always  at  law  business,"  said  Mrs.  Tinker,  taking  up  the 
pot  of  porter. 

"Drink  and  drink  about,"  said  the  Baronet.  "Yes,  my  dear, 
Tinker  is  quite  right :  I've  lost  and  won  more  lawsuits  than  any 
man  in  England.  Look  here  at  Crawley,  Bart.  v.  Snaffle.  I'll  throw 
him  over,  or  my  name's  not  Pitt  Crawley.  Podder  and  another 
versus  Crawley,  Bart.  Overseers  of  Snaily  parish  against  Crawley, 
Bart.  They  can't  prove  it's  common  :  I'll  defy  'em ;  the  land's  mine. 
It  no  more  belongs  to  the  parish  than  it  does  to  you  or  Tinker  here. 
I'll  beat  'em,  if  it  cost  me  a  thousand  guineas.  Look  over  the  papers  ; 
you  may  if  you  like,  my  dear.  Do  you  write  a  good  hand?  I'll 
make  you  useful  when  we're  at  Queen's  Crawley,  depend  on  it.  Miss 
Sharp.     Now  the  dowager's  dead  I  want  some  one." 

"  She  was  as  bad  as  he,"  said  Tinker.  "  She  took  the  law  of 
every  one  of  her  tradesmen ;  and  turned  away  forty-eight  footmen 
in  four  year." 

"  She  was  close — very  close,"  said  the  Baronet,  simply ;  "  but  she 
was  a  valyble  woman  to  me,  and  saved  me  a  steward." — And  in  this 
confidential  strain,  and  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  new-comer, 
the  conversation  continued  for  a  considerable  time.     Whatever  Sir 


VPitt  Crawley's  qualities  might  be,  good  or  bad,  he  did  not  make  the 
m 
in  the  coarsest  and  vulgarest  Hampshire  accent ;  sometimes  adopting 


/ 


east  disguise  of  them.     He  talked  of  himself  incessantly,  sometimes 


the  tone  of  a  man  of  the  world.  And  so,  with  injunctions  to  Miss 
Sharp  to  be  ready  at  five  in  the  morning,  he  bade  her  good  night. 
"  You'll  sleep  with  Tinker  to-night,"  he  said ;  "  it's  a  big  bed,  and 
there's  room  for  two.     Lady  Crawley  died  in  it.     Good-night." 

Sir  Pitt  went  off  after  this  benediction,  and  the  solenm  Tinker, 
rushlight  in  hand,  led  the  way  up  the  great  bleak  stone  stairs,  past 
the  great  dreary  drawing-room  doors,  with  the  handles  muffled  up  in 
paper,  into  the  great  front  bedroom,  where  Lady  Crawley  had  slept 
her  last.  The  bed  and  chamber  were  so  funereal  and  gloomy,  you 
might  have  fancied,  not  only  that  Lady  Crawley  died  in  the  room, 


62  VANITY    FAIR 

but  that  her  ghost  inhabited  it.  Rebecca  sprang  about  the  apart- 
ment, however,  with  the  greatest  liveliness,  and  had  peeped  into  the 
huge  wardrobes,  and  the  closets,  and  the  cupboards,  and  tried  the 
drawers  which  were  locked,  and  examined  the  dreary  pictures  and 
toilette  appointments,  while  the  old  charwoman  was  saying  her 
prayers.  "  I  shouldn't  like  to  sleep  in  this  yeer  bed  without  a  good 
conscience.  Miss,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  There's  room  for  us  and  a 
half-dozen  of  ghosts  in  it,"  says  Rebecca.  "  Tell  me  all  about  Lady 
Crawley  and  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  and  everybody,  my  dear  Mrs.  Tinker." 

But  old  Tinker  was  not  to  be  pumped  by  this  little  cross-ques- 
tioner j  and  signifying  to  her  that  bed  was  a  place  for  sleeping,  not 
conversation,  set  up  in  her  comer  of  the  bed  such  a  snore  as  only 
the  nose  of  innocence  can  produce.  Rebecca  lay  awake  for  a  long, 
long  time,  thinking  of  the  morrow,  and  of  the  new  world  into  which 
she  was  going,  and  of  her  chances  of  success  there.  The  rush- 
light flickered  in  the  basin.  The  mantelpiece  cast  up  a  great  black 
shadow,  over  half  of  a  mouldy  old  sampler,  which  her  defunct  ladyship 
had  worked,  no  doubt,  and  over  two  little  family  pictiu-es  of  young 
lads,  one  in  a  college  gown,  and  the  other  in  a  red  jacket  like  a  soldier. 
When  she  went  to  sleep,  Rebecca  chose  that  one  to  dream  about. 

At  four  o'clock,  on  such  a  roseate  summer's  morning  as  even 
made  G-reat  G-aunt  Street  look  cheerful,  the  faithful  Tinker,  having 
wakened  her  bedfellow,  and  bid  her  prepare  for  departure,  unbarred 
and  unbolted  the  great  hall  door  (the  clanging  and  clapping  whereof 
startled  the  sleeping  echoes  in  the  street),  and  taking  her  way  into 
Oxford  Street,  summoned  a  coach  from  a  stand  there.  It  is  needless 
to  particularise  the  number  of  the  vehicle,  or  to  state  that  the  driver 
was  stationed  thus  early  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Swallow  Street, 
in  hopes  that  some  young  buck,  reeling  homeward  from  the  tavern, 
might  need  the  aid  of  his  vehicle  and  pay  him  with  the  generosity 
of  intoxication. 

It  is  likewise  needless  to  say,  that  the  driver,  if  he  had  any  such 
hopes  as  those  above  stated,  was  grossly  disappointed ;  and  that  the 
worthy  Baronet  whom  he  drove  to  the  City  did  not  give  him  one 
single  penny  more  than  his  fare.  It  was  in  vain  that  Jehu  appealed 
and  stormed ;  that  he  flung  down  Miss  Sharp's  bandboxes  in  the 
gutter  at  the  'Necks,  and  swore  he  would  take  the  law  of  his  fare. 

"You'd  better  not,"  said  one  of  the  ostlers;  "it's  Sir  Pitt 
Orawley." 

"  So  it  is,  Joe,"  cried  the  Baronet,  approvingly ;  "  and  I'd  like 
to  see  the  man  can  do  me." 

"So  should  oi,"  said  Joe,  grinning  sulkily,  and  mounting  the 
Baronet's  baggage  on  the  roof  of  the  coach. 

"  Keep  the  box  for  me,  Leader,"  exclaims  the  Member  of  Parlia- 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  67 

ment  to  the  coachman;  who  replied,  "Yes,  Sir  Pitt,"  with  a  tJove 
of  his  hat,  and  rage  in  his  soul  (for  he  had  promised  the  box  to  a 
young  gentleman  from  Cambridge,  who  would  have  given  a  crown  to 
a  certainty),  and  Miss  Sharp  was  /accommodated  with  a  back  seat 
inside  the  carriage,  which  might  be  said  to  be  carrying  her  into  the  ~) 
wide  world.  ^ 

How  the  young  man  from  Cambridge  sulkily  put  his  five  great- 
coats in  front ;  but  was  reconciled  when  little  Miss  Sharp  was  made 
to  quit  the  carriage,  and  mount  up  beside  him — when  he  covered  her 
up  in  one  of  his  Benjamins,  and  became  perfectly  good-humoured — 
how  the  asthmatic  gentleman,  the  prim  lady,  who  declared  upon  her 
sacred  honour  she  had  never  travelled  in  a  public  carriage  before 
(there  is  always  such  a  lady  in  a  coach, — alas  !  was ;  for  the  coaches, 
where  are  they?),  and  the  fat  widow  with  the  brandy-bottle,  took 
their  places  inside — how  the  porter  asked  them  all  for  money,  and 
got  sixpence  from  the  gentleman  and  five  greasy  halfpence  from  the 
fat  widow — and  how  the  carriage  at  length  drove  away — now  thread- 
ing the  dark  lanes  of  Aldersgate,  anon  clattering  by  the  Blue  Cupola 
of  St.  Paul's,  jingling  rapidly  by  the  strangers'  entry  of  Fleet-Market, 
which,  with  Exeter  'Change,  has  now  departed  to  the  world  of 
shadows — how  they  passed  the  White  Bear  in  Piccadilly,  and  saw 
the  dew  rising  up  from  the  market-gardens  of  Knightsbridge — how 
Tumham-green,  Brentford,  Bagshot,  were  passed — need  not  be  told 
here.  But  the  writer  of  these  pages,  who  has  pursued  in  former 
days,  and  in  the  same  bright  weather,  the  same  remarkable  journey, 
cannot  but  think  of  it  with  a  sweet  and  tender  regret.  Where  is 
the  road  now,  and  its  merry  incidents  of  life  1  Is  there  no  Chelsea 
or  Greenwich  for  the  old  honest  pimple-nosed  coachmen  ?  I  wonder 
where  are  they,  those  good  fellows  1  Is  old  Weller  alive  or  dead  ? 
and  the  waiters,  yea,  and  the  inns  at  which  they  waited,  and  the  cold 
rounds  of  beef  inside,  and  the  stunted  ostler,  with  his  jjlue  nose  and 
clinking  pail,  where  is  he,  and  where  is  his  generation  1  To  those 
great  geniuses  now  in  petticoats,  who  shall  write  novels  for  the 
beloved  reader's  children,  these  men  and  things  will  be  as  much  ^ 
legend  and  history  as  Nineveh,  or  Coeur  de  Lion,  or  Jack  Sheppard.1  /^.  (Ij 
For  them  stage-coaches  will  have  become  romances — a  team  of  four  j  ^ 
bays  as  fabulous  as  Bucephalus  or  Black  Bess.  Ah,  how  their  coats  \ 
shone,  as  the  stable-men  pulled  their  clothes  ofi",  and  away  they  went 
— ah,  how  their  tails  shook,  as  with  smoking  sides  at  the  stage's 
end  they  demurely  walked  away  into  the  inn-yard.  Alas  !  we  shall 
never  hear  the  horn  sing  at  midnight,  or  see  the  pike-gates  fly  open 
any  more.  Whither,  however,  is  the  light  four-inside  Trafalgar  coach 
carrying  us  ?  Let  us  be  set  down  at  Queen's  Crawley  without  further 
divagation,  and  see  how  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  speeds  there. 


62 

buttv- 

V 


Chapter  vitl 

PRIVATE   AND    CONFIDENTIAL 

Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  to  Miss  Amelia  Sedley^  Russell  Square^ 
London.     (Free. — Pitt  Crawley.) 

MY  DEAREST,  SWEETEST  AMELIA, — With  what  mingled  joy  and 
sorrow  do  I  take  up  the  pen  to  write  to  my  dearest  friend ! 
Oh,  what  a  change  between  to-day  and  yesterday  !  Now  I  am 
friendless  and  alone ;  yesterday  I  was  at  home,  in  the  sweet  company 
of  a  sister,  whom  I  shall  ever,  ever  cherish  ! 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  in  what  tears  and  sadness  I  passed  the  fatal 
night  in  which  I  separated  from  you.  You  went  on  Tuesday  to  joy 
and  happiness,  with  your  mother  and  your  devoted  young  soldier  bj 
your  side ;  and  I  thought  of  you  all  night,  dancing  at  the  Perkins's, 
the  prettiest,  I  am  sure,  of  all  the  young  ladies  at  the  Ball.  I  was 
brought  by  the  groom  in  the  old  carriage  to  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's  town 
house,  where,  after  John  the  groom  had  behaved  most  rudely  and 
insolently  to  me  (alas  !  'twas  safe  to  insult  poverty  and  misfortune  !), 
I  was  given  over  to  Sir  P.'s  care,  and  made  to  pass  the  night  in  an  old 
gloomy  bed,  and  by  the  side  of  a  horrid  gloomy  old  charwoman,  who 
keeps  the  house.     I  did  not  sleep  one  single  wink  the  whole  night. 

"  Sir  Pitt  is  not  what  we  silly  girls,  when  we  used  to  read  Cecilia 
at  Chiswick,  imagined  a  baronet  must  have  been.  Anything,  indeed, 
less  like  Lord  Orville  cannot  be  imagined.  Fancy  an  old,  stumpy, 
short,  vulgar,  and  very  dirty  man,  in  old  clothes  and  shabby  old 
gaiters,  who  smokes  a  horrid  pipe  and  cooks  his  own  horrid  supper 
in  a  saucepan.  He  speaks  with  a  country  accent,  and  swore  a  great 
deal  at  the  old  charwoman,  at  the  hackney-coachman  who  drove  us 
to  the  inn  where  the  coach  went  from,  and  on  which  I  made  the 
journey  outside  for  the  greater  part  of  the  way. 

"  I  was  awakened  at  daybreak  by  the  charwoman,  and  having 
arrived  at  the  inn,  was  at  first  placed  inside  the  coach.  But,  when 
we  got  to  a  place  called  Leakington,  where  the  rain  began  to  fall 
very  heavily — will  you  believe  it  1 — I  was  forced  to  come  outside ;  for 
Sir  Pitt  is  a  proprietor  of  the  coach,  and  as  a  passenger  came  at 
Mudbury,  who  wanted  an  inside  place,  I  was  obliged  to  go  outside 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  67 

in  the  rain,  where,  however,  a  yourtg  gentleman  from  Cambiiove 
College  sheltered  me  very  kindly  in  one  of  his  several  greatcoats.     " 

"  This  gentleman  and  the  guard  seemed  to  know  Sir  Pitt  very 
well,  and  laughed  at  him  a  great  d^al.  They  both  agreed  in  calling 
him  an  old  screw  ;  which  means  a  very  stingy,  avaricious  person.  He 
never  gives  any  money  to  anybody,  they  said  (and  this  meanness  I 
hate) ;  and  the  young  gentleman  made  me  remark  that  we  drove  very 
slow  for  the  last  two  stages  on  the  road,  because  Sir  Pitt  was  on  the 
box,  and  because  he  is  proprietor  of  the  horses  for  this  part  of  the 
journey.  *  But  won't  I  flog  'em  on  to  Squashmore,  when  I  take  the 
ribbons'?'  said  the  young  Cantab.  'Aiid  sarve  'em  right.  Master 
Jack,'  said  the  guard.  When  I  comprehended  the  meaning  of  this 
phrase,  and  that  Master  Jack  intended  to  drive  the  rest  of  the  way, 
and  revenge  himself  on  Sir  Pitt's  horses,  of  course  I  laugTied  too. 

"A  carriage  and  four  splendid  horses,  covered  with  armorial 
bearings,  however,  awaited  us  at  Mudbury,  four  miles  from  Queen's 
Crawley,  and  we  made  our  entrance  to  the  baronet's  park  in  state. 
There  is  a  fine  avenue  of  a  mile  long  leading  to  the  house,  and  the 
woman  at  the  lodge-gate  (over  the  pillars  of  which  are  a  serpent  and 
a  dove,  the  supporters  of  the  Crawley  arms)  made  us  a  number  of 
curtsies  as  she  flung  open  the  old  iron  carved  doors,  which  are  some- 
thing like  those  at  odious  Chiswick. 

"  *  There's  an  avenue,'  said  Sir  Pitt,   '  a  mile  long.     There's  six 
thousand  pound  of  timber  in  them  there  trees.     Do  you  call  that 
nothing  1 '     He  pronounced  avenue — evenue,  and  nothing — nothink, 
so  droll ;  and  he  had  a  Mr.  Hodson,  his  hind  from  Mudbury,  into  the 
carnage  with  him,  and  they  talked  about  distraining,  and  selling  up, 
and  draining  and  subsoiling,  and  a  great  deal  about  tenants  and  farm- 
ing— much  more  than  I  could  understand.     Sam  Miles  had  been 
caught  poaching,  and  Peter  Bailey  had  gone  to  the  workhouse  at  last.     -  . 
'  Serve  him  right,'  said  Sir  Pitt ;  '  him  and  his  family  has  been  cheat-  ,^; 
ing  me  on  that  farm  these  hundred  and  fifty  years.'     Some  old    v-» 
tenant,  I  suppose,  who  could  not  pay  his  rent.     Sir  Pitt  might  have    ^ 
said  '  he  and  his  family,'  to  be  sure ;  but  rich  baronets  do  not  need     ^k,^^ 
to  be  careful  about  grammar,  as  poor  governesses  must  be.  IT^ 

"  As  we  passed,  I  remarked  a  beautiful  church-spire  rising  above  \\^r-^ 
some  old  elms  in  the  park ;  and  before  them,  in  the  midst  of  a  lawn,   v\ 
and  some  outhouses,  an  old  red  house  with  tall  chimneys  covered    "^^ 
with  ivy,   and  the  windows  shining  in  the  sun.     'Is  that  your 
church,  sir  r  I  said. 

" '  Yes,  hang  it "  (said  Sir  Pitt,  only  he  used,  dear,  a  much 
wickeder  word)  ;  how's  Buty,  Hodson  %  Buty's  my  brother  Bute,  my 
dear — mybrotherthe  parson.    Buty  and  the  Beast,  I  call  him,  ha,  ha !' 

"  llodson  laughedtoo,  and  then  looking  more  grave  and  nodding 


62  VANITY    FAIR 

but  tJad,  said,  *  I'm  afraid  he's  better,  Sir  Pitt.  He  was  out  on  his 
pTony  yesterday,  looking  at  our  corn.' 

" '  Looking  after  his  tithes,  hang  'un  (only  he  used  the  same 
wicked  word).  Will  brandy  and  water  never  kill  himl  He's  as 
tough  as  old  whatdyecallum— old  Methusalem.' 

"Mr.  Hodson  laughed  again.  """Tlie  ybung  men  is  home  from 
college.     They've  whopped  John  Scroggins  till  he's  well-nigh  dead.' 

"  '  Whop  my  second  keeper  ! '  roared  out  Sir  Pitt. 

"  '  He  was  on  the  parson's  ground,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Hodson ;  and 
Sir  Pitt  in  a  ftiry  swore  that  if  ever  he  caught  'em  poaching  on  his 
ground,  he'd  transport  'em,  by  the  lord  he  would.  However,  he  said, 
'  I've  sold  the  presentation  of  the  living,  Hodson ;  none  of  that  breed 
shall  get  it,  I  war'nt ; '  and  Mr.  Hodson  said  he  was  quite  right :  and 
I  have  no  doubt  from  this  that  the  two  brothers  are  at  variance — as 
brothers  often  are,  and  sisters  too.  Don't  you  remember  the  two  Miss 
Scratchleys  at  Chiswick,  how  they  used  always  to  fight  and  quarrel 
— and  Mary  Box,  how  she  was  always  thumping  Louisa  ? 

"  Presently,  seeing  two  little  boys  gatjiering  sticks  in  the  wood, 
Mr.  Hodson  jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  at  Sir  Pitt's  order,  and  rushed 
upon  them  with  his  whip.  '  Pitch  into  'em,  Hodson,'  roared  the 
Baronet ;  '  flog  their  little  souls  out,  and  bring  'em  up  to  the  house, 
the  vagabonds ;  I'll  commit  'em  as  sure  as  my  name's  Pitt."  And 
presently  we  heard  Mr.  Hodson's  whip  cracking  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  poor  little  blubbering  wretches,  and  Sir  Pitt,  seeing  that  the 
malefactors  were  in  custody,  drove  on  to  the  hall. 

"  All  the  servants  were  ready  to  meet  us,  and 


"Here,  my  dear,  I  was  interrupted  last  night  by  a  dreadful 
thumping  at  my  door :  and  who  do  you  think  it  was  ?  Sir  Pitt 
Crawley  in  his  night-cap  and  dressing-gown,  such  a  figure !  As  I 
shrank  away  from  such  a  visitor,  he  came  forward  and  seized  my 
candle.  '  No  candles  after  eleven  o'clock.  Miss  Becky,'  said  he.  '  Go 
to  bed  in  the  dark,  you  pretty  little  hussey !  (that  is  what  he  called 
me),  '  and  unless  you  wish  me  to  come  for  the  candle  every  night, 
mind  and  be  in  bed  at  eleven.'  And  with  this,  he  and  Mr.  Horrocks 
the  butler  went  off"  laughing.  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  not  encourage 
any  more  of  their  visits.  They  let  loose  two  immense  blood-hounds 
at  night,  which  all  last  night  were  yelling  and  howling  at  the  moon. 
'  I  call  the  dog  Gorer,'  said  Sir  Pitt ;  '  he's  killed  a  man  that  dog  has, 
and  is  master  of  a  bull,  and  the  mother  I  used  to  call  Flora ;  but  now 
I  calls  her  Aroarer,  for  she's  too  old  to  bite.     Haw,  haw  ! ' 

"  Before  the  house  of  Queen's  Crawley,  which  is  an  odious  old- 
fashioned  red  brick  mansion,  with  tall  chimneys  and  gables  of  the 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  67 

style  of  Queen  Bess,  there  is  a  ten-ace  flanked  by  the  family  dove 
and  serpent,  and  on  which  the  great  hall-door  opens.  And  oh,  my 
dear,  the  great  hall  I  am  sure  is  as  big  and  as  glum  as  the  great  hall 
in  the  dear  castle  of  Udolpho.  It  Aas  a  large  fireplace,  in  which  we 
might  put  half  Miss  Pinkerton's  school,  and  the  grate  is  big  enough 
to  roast  an  ox  at  the  very  least.  Round  the  room  hang  I  don't  know 
how  many  generations  of  Crawleys,  some  with  beards  and  ruffs,  some 
with  huge  wigs  and  toes  turned  out,  some  dressed  in  long  straight  stays 
and  gowns  that  look  as  stiff  as  towers,  and  some  with  long  ringlets, 
and  oh,  my  dear  !  scarcely  any  stays  at  all.  At  one  end  of  the  hall 
is  the  great  staircase  all  in  black  oak,  as  dismal  as  may  be,  and  on 
either  side  are  tall  doors  with  stags'  heads  over  them,  leading  to  the 
billiard-room  and  the  library,  and  the  great  yellow  saloon  and  the 
morning-rooms.  I  think  there  are  at  least  twenty  bedrooms  on  the 
first-floor ;  and  one  of  them  has  the  bed  in  which  Queen  Elizabeth 
slept ;  and  I  have  been  taken  by  my  new  pupils  through  all  these 
fine  apartments  this  morning.  They  are  not  rendered  less  gloomy,  I 
promise  you,  by  having  the  shutters  always  shut ;  and  there  is  scarce 
one  of  the  apartments,  but  when  the  light  was  let  into  it,  I  expected 
to  see  a  ghost  in  the  room.  We  have  a  school-room  on  the  second- 
floor,  with  my  bedroom  leading  into  it  on  one  side,  and  that  of  the 
young  ladies  on  the  other.  Then  there  are  Mr.  Pitt's  apartments 
— Mr.  Crawley,  he  is  called — the  eldest  son,  and  Mr.  Rawdon 
Crawley's  rooms — he  is  an  officer  like  some^oc?^,  and  away  with  his 
regiment.  There  is  no  want  of  room  I  assure  you.  You  might 
lodge  all  the  people  in  Russell  Square  in  the  house,  I  think,  and 
have  space  to  spare. 

"  Half-an-hour  after  our  arrival,  the  great  dinner-bell  was  rung, 
and  I  came  down  with  my  two  pupils  (they  are  very  thin  insignificant 
little  chits  of  ten  and  eight  years  old).  I  came  down  in  your  dear 
muslin  gown  (about  which  that  odious  Mrs.  Pinner  was  so  rude, 
because  you  gave  it  me) ;  for  I  am  to  be  treated  as  one  of  the 
family,  except  on  company  days,  when  the  young  ladies  and  I  are 
to  dine  upstairs.  \ 

"  Well,  the  great  dinner-bell  rang,  and  we  all  assembled  in  thcf 
little  drawing-room  where  my  Lady  Crawley  sits.  She  is  the  second 
Lady  Crawley,  and  mother  of  the  young  ladies.  She  was  an  iron- 
monger's daughter,  and  her  marriage  was  thought  a  great  match. 
She  looks  as  if  she  had  been  handsome  once,  and  her  eyes  are  always 
weeping  for  the  loss  of  her  beauty.  She  is  pale  and  meagre  and. 
high-shouldered ;  and  has  not  a  word  to  say  for  herself,  evidently; 
Her  stepson,  Mr.  Crawley,  was  likewise  in  the  room.  He  was  in 
full  dress,  as  pompous  as  an  undertaker.  He  is  pale,  thin,  ugly, 
silent ;  he  has  thin  legs,  no  chest,  hay-coloured  whiskers,  and  straw 


68  VANITY    FAIR 

coloured  hair.  He  is  the  very  picture  of  his  sainted  mother  over  the 
mantelpiece — Griselda  of  the  noble  house  of  Binkie. 

" '  This  is  the  new  governess,  Mr.  Crawley,'  said  Lady  Crawley, 
coming  forward  and  taking  my  hand.     '  Miss  Sharp.' 

"'01'  said  Mr.  Crawley,  and  pushed  his  head  once  forward  and 
began  again  to  read  a  great  pamphlet  with  which  he  was  busy. 

"  '  I  hope  you  will  be  kind  to  my  girls,'  said  Lady  Crawley,  with 
her  pink  eyes  always  full  of  tears. 

"  '  Law,  Ma,  of  course  she  will,'  said  the  eldest :  and  I  saw  at  a 
glance  that  I  need  not  be  afraid  of  that  woman. 

" '  My  lady  is  served,'  says  the  Butler  in  black,  in  an  immense 
white  shirt-frill,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  one  of  the  Queen 
Elizabeth's  ruffs  depicted  in  the  hall ;  and  so,  taking  Mr.  Crawley's 
arm,  she  led  the  way  'to  the  dining-room,  whither  I  followed  with 
my  little  pupils  in  each  hand. 

"  Sir  Pitt  was  already  in  the  room  with  a  silver  jug.  He  had 
just  been  to  the  cellar,  and  was  in  full  dress  too  ;  that  is,  he  had 
taken  his  gaiters  off,  and  glowed  his  little  dumpy  legs  in  black 
worsted  stockings.  The  sideboard  was  covered  with  glistening  old 
plate — old  cups,  both  gold  and  silver  ;  old  salvers  and  cruet-stands, 
like  Rundell  and  Bridge's  shop.  Everything  on  the  table  was  in 
silver  too,  and  two  footmen,  with  red  hair  and  canary-coloured 
liveries,  stood  on  either  side  of  the  sideboard. 

"  Mr.  Crawley  said  a  long  grace,  and  Sir  Pitt  said  amen,  and 
the  great  silver  dish-covers  were  removed. 

"  '  What  have  we  for  dinner,  Betsy  1 '  said  the  Baronet. 

"  '  Mutton  broth,  I  beHeve,  Sir  Pitt,'  answered  Lady  Crawley. 

"  '  Mouton  aux  navets,"  added  the  Butler  gravely  (pronounce,  if 
yoii  please,  moutongonavvy) ;  '  and  the  soup  is  potage  de  mouton  a 
VEcossaise.  The  side-dishes  contain  pommes  de  terre  au  naturel, 
and  choufleuT  a  I'eau.' 

"  '  Mutton's  mutton,'  said  the  Baronet,  '  and  a  devihsh  good 
thing.     What  ship  was  it,  Horrocks,  and  when  did  you  kill  ? ' 

"  '  One  of  the  black-faced  Scotch,  Sir  Pitt :  we  killed  on  Thursday.' 

"' Who  took  any  r 

" '  Steel,  of  Mudbury,  took  the  saddle  and  two  legs,  Sir  Pitt ; 
but  he  says  the  last  was  too  young  and  confounded  woolly,  Sir  Pitt.' 

"  '  Will  you  take  some  potage,  Miss  ah — Miss  Blunt  ? '  said  Mr. 
Crawley. 

"  '  Capital  Scotch  broth,  my  dear,'  said  Sir  Pitt,  *  though  they 
call  it  by  a  French  name.' 

"  *  I  believe  it  is  the  custom,  sir,  in  decent  society,'  said  Mr. 
Crawley  haughtily,  '  to  call  the  dish  as  I  have  called  it ; '  and  it 
was  served  to  us  od  silver  soup-plates  b^v  the  footmen  in  the  canary 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  69 

coats,  with  the  mouton  aux  navets.  Then  *  ale  and  water '  were 
brought,  and  served  to  us  young  ladies  in  wine-glasses.  I  am 
not  a  judge  of  ale,  but  I  can  say  with  a  clear  conscience  I 
prefer  water.  ^ 

"  While  we  were  enjoying  our  repast.  Sir  Pitt  took  occasion  to 
ask  what  had  become  of  the  shoulders  of  the  mutton. 

"  '  I  believe  they  were  eaten  in  the  servants'  hall,'  said  my  lady 
humbly. 

"  '  They  was,  my  lady,'  said  Horrocks,  *  and  precious  little  else 
we  get  there  neither.' 

"  Sir  Pitt  burst  into  a  horse  laugh,  and  continued  his  conversa- 
tion with  Mr.  Horrocks.  '  That  there  little  black  pig  of  the  Kent 
sow's  breed  must  be  uncommon  fat  now.' 

"  *  It's  not  quite  busting.  Sir  Pitt,'  said  the  Butler  with  the 
gravest  air,  at  which  Sir  Pitt,  and  with  him  the  young  ladies,  this 
time,  began  to  laugh  violently. 

"  '  Miss  Crawley,  Miss  Rose  Crawley,'  said  Mr.  Crawley,  *  your 
laughter  strikes  me  as  being  exceedingly  out  of  place.' 

"  *  Never  mind,  my  lord,'  said  the  Baronet,  '  we'll  try  the  porker 
on  Saturday.  Kill  un  on  Saturday  morning,  John  Horrocks.  Miss 
Sharp  adores  pork,  don't  you.  Miss  Sharp  1 ' 

"  And  I  think  this  is  all  the  conversation  that  I  remember  at 
dinner.  When  the  repast  was  concluded  a  jug  of  hot  water  was 
placed  before  Sir  Pitt,  with  a  case-bottle  containing,  I  believe,  rum. 
Mr.  Horrocks  served  myself  and  my  pupils  with  three  little  glasses 
of  wine,  and  a  bumper  was  poured  out  for  my  lady.  When  we 
retired,  she  took  from  her  work-drawer  an  enormous  interminable 
piece  of  knitting  ;  the  young  ladies  began  to  play  at  cribbage  with 
a  dirty  pack  of  cards.  We  had  but  one  candle  hghted,  but  it  was  in 
a  magnificent  old  silver  candlestick,  and  after  a  very  few  questions 
from  my  lady,  I  had  my  choice  of  amusement  between  a  volume  of 
sermons,  and  a  pamphlet  on  the  corn-laws,  which  Mr.  Crawley  had 
been  reading  before  dinner. 

"  So  we  sat  for  an  hour  until  steps  were  heard. 

"  *  Put  away  the  cards,  girls,'  cried  my  lady,  in  a  great  tremor ; 

*  put  down  Mr.  Crawley's  books.  Miss  Sharp : '  and  these  orders 
had  been  scarcely  obeyed,  when  Mr.  Crawley  entered  the  room. 

"  *  We  will  resume  yesterday's  discourse,  young  ladies,'  said  he, 

*  and  you  shall  each  read  a  page  by  turns ;  so  that  Miss  a — Miss 
Short  may  have  an  opportunity  of  hearing  you ; '  and  the  poor  girls 
began  to  spell  a  long  dismal  sermon  delivered  at  Bethesda  Chapel, 
Liverpool,  on  behalf  of  the  mission  for  the  Chickasaw  Indians. 
Was  it  not  a  charming  evening  ? 

"  At  ten  the  servants  were  told  to  call  Sir  Pitt  and  the  house- 


70  VANITY    FAIR 

hold  to  prayers.  Sir  Pitt  came  in  first,  very  much  flushed,  and 
rather  unsteady  in  his  gait ;  and  after  him  the  butler,  the  canaries, 
Mr.  Crawley's  man,  three  other  men,  smelling  very  much  of  the 
stable,  and  four  women,  one  of  whom,  I  remarked,  was  very  much 
over-dressed,  and  who  flung  me  a  look  of  great  scorn  as  she  plumped 
down  on  her  knees. 

"  After  Mr.  Crawley  had  done  haranguing  and  expounding,  we 
received  our  candles,  and  then  we  went  to  bed ;  and  then  I  was 
disturbed  in  my  writing,  as  I  have  described  to  my  dearest,  sweetest 
Amelia. 

"  Good  night.     A  thousand,  thousand,  thousand  kisses  ! 

"  Saturday. — This  morning,  at  five,  I  heard  the  shrieking  of  the 
little  black  pig.  Rose  and  Violet  introduced  me  to  it  yesterday; 
and  to  the  stables,  and  to  the  kennel,  and  to  the  gardener,  who  was 
picking  fruit  to  send  to  market,  and  from  whom  they  begged  hard 
a  bunch  of  hot-house  grapes ;  but  he  said  that  Sir  Pitt  had  num- 
bered every  *  Man  Jack '  of  them,  and  it  would  be  as  much  as  his 
place  was  worth  to  give  any  away.  The  darling  girls  caught  a 
colt  in  a  paddock,  and  asked  me  if  I  would  ride,  and  began  to 
ride  themselves,  when  the  groom,  coming  with  horrid  oaths,  drove 
them  away. 

"Lady  Crawley  is  always  knitting  the  worsted.  Sir  Pitt  is 
always  tipsy,  every  night ;  and,  I  believe,  sits  with  Horrocks,  the 
butler.  Mr.  Crawley  always  reads  sermons  in  the  evening,  and  in 
the  morning  is  locked  up  in  his  study,  or  else  rides  to  Mudbury,  on 
county  business,  or  to  Squashmore,  where  he  preaches,  on  Wednes- 
days and  Fridays,  to  the  tenants  there. 

"A  hundred  thousand  grateful  loves  to  your  dear  papa  and 
mamma.  Is  your  poor  brother  recovered  of  his  rack-punch  1  Oh, 
dear !  Oh,  dear !  How  men  should  beware  of  wicked  punch  ! — 
Ever  and  ever  thine  own  Rebecca." 

Everything  considered,  I  think  it  is  quite  as  well  for  our  dear 
Amelia  Sedley,  in  Russell  Square,  that  Miss  Sharp  and  she  are 
parted.  Rebecca  is  a  droll  funny  creature,  to  be  sure ;  and  those 
descriptions  of  the  poor  lady  weeping  for  the  loss  of  her  beauty,  and 
the  gentleman  "with  hay-coloured  whiskers  and  straw-coloured 
hair,"  are  very  smart,  doubtless,  and  show  a  great  knowledge  of  the 
world.  That  she  might,  when  on  her  knees,  have  been  thinking  of 
something  better  than  Miss  Horrocks's  ribbons,  has  possibly  struck 
both  of  us.  But  my  kind  reader  will  please  to  remember  that  this 
history  has  "  Vanity  Fair "  for  a  title,  and  that  Vanity  Fair  is  a 
very  vain,  wicked,  foolish  place,  full  of  all  sorts  of  humbugs  and  false- 
nesses and  pretensions.     And  while  the  moralist,  who  is  holding 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  71 

forth  on  the  cover  *  (an  accurate  portrait  of  your  humble  servant), 
professes  to  wear  neither  gown  nor  bands,  but  only  the  very  same 
long-eared  livery  in  which  his  congregation  is  arrayed :  yet,  look 
you,  one  is  bound  to  speak  th^  truth  as  far  as  one  knows  it, 
whether  one  mounts  a  cap  and  bells  or  a  shovel-hat ;  and  a  deal 
of  disagreeable  matter  must  come  out  in  the  course  of  such  an 
undertaking. 

I  have  heard  a  brother  of  the  story-telling  trade,  at  Naples, 
preaching  to  a  pack  of  good-for-nothing  honest  lazy  fellows  by  the 
sea-shore,  work  himself  up  into  such  a  rage  and  passion  with  some 
of  the  villains  whose  wicked  deeds  he  was  describing  and  inventing, 
that  the  audience  could  not  resist  it ;  and  they  and  the  poet  together 
would  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  oaths  and  execrations  against  the 
fictitious  monster  of  the  tale,  so  that  the  hat  went  round,  and 
the  bajocchi  tumbled  into  it,  in  the  midst  of  a  perfect  storm  of 
sympathy. 

At  the  little  Paris  theatres,  on  the  other  hand,  you  will  not 
only  hear  the  people  yelling  out  "  Ah  gredin  !  Ah  monstre  !  "  and 
cursing  the  tyrant  of  the  play  from  the  boxes ;  but  the  actors  them- 
selves positively  refuse  to  play  the  wicked  parts,  such  as  those  of 
infdmes  Anglais,  brutal  Cossacks,  and  what  not,   and  prefer  to 


appear,  at  a  smaller  salary,  in  their  real  characters  as  loyal  French-  } 

men.     I  set  the  two  stories  one  against  the  other,  so  that  you  may  j\i\f*^ 
see  that  it  is  not  from  mere  mercenary  motives  that  the  present    r   / 
performer  is  desirous  to  show  up  and  trounce  his  villains;   but 
because  he  has  a  sincere  hatred  of  them,  which  he  cannot  keep 
down,  and  which  must  find  a  vent  in  suitable  abuse  and    bad 
language. 

I  warn  my  "kyind  friends,"  then,  that  I  am  going  to  tell  a  "^ 
story  of  harrowing  villainy  and  complicated — but,  as  I  trust,  intensely 
interesting — crime.     My  rascals  are  no  milk-and-water  rascals,   I 
promise  you.     When  we  come  to  the  proper  places  we  won't  spare 
fine  language — No,  no !     But  when  we  are  going  over  the  quiet    ? 
country  we  must  perforce  be  calm.     A  tempest  in  a  slop-basin  is  ft 
absurd.     We  will  reserve  that  sort  of  thing  for  the  mighty  ocean  and 
the  lonely  midnight.     The  present  Chapter  is  very  mild.     Others —  I 
But  we  will  not  anticipate  those.  '^ 

And,  as  we  bring  oiu-  characters  forward,  I  will  ask  leave,  as  a 
man  and  a  brother,  not  only  to  introduce  them,  but  occasionally  to 
step  down  from  the  platform,  and  talk  about  them  :  if  they  are  good 
and  kindly,  to  love  them  and  shake  them  by  the  hand :  if  they  are 
silly,  to  laugh  at  them  confidentially  in  the  reader's  sleeve  :  if  they 

*  A  reference  to  a  woodcut  on  the  cover  of  the  original  edition. 


72  VANITY    FAIR 

are  wicked  and  heartless,  to  abuse  them  in  the  strongest  terms  which 
politeness  admits  of. 

Otherwise  you  might  fancy  it  was  I  who  was  sneering  at  the^ 
practice  of  devotion,  which  Miss  Sharp  finds  so  ridiculous ;  that  it 
was  I  who  laughed  good-humouredly  at  the  reeling  old  Silenus  of  a 
baronet — whereas  the  laughter  comes  from  one  who  has  no  reverence 
except  for  prosperity,  and  no  eye  for  anything  beyond  success.  Such 
people  there  are  living  and  flourishing  in  the  world — Faithless,  Hope- 
less, Charityless ;  let  us  have  at  them,  dear  friends,  with  might  and 
main.  Some  there  are,  and  very  successful  too,  mere  quacks  and 
fools :  and  it  was  to  combat  and  expose  such  as  those,  no  doubt, 
that  Laughter  was  made. 


CHAPTER  IX 

FAMILY    PORTRAITS 

SIR  PITT  CRAWLEY  wa^  a,  philosophpr  wfh  ^  fg«fp  fnr  x^rhai 
is  galled  low  life.  IHis  first  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  the 
noble  Binkie  had  been  made  under  the  auspices  of  his  parents ; 
and  as  he  often  told  Lady  Crawley  in  her  life-time  she  was  such  a 
confounded  quarrelsome  high-bred  jade  that  when  she  died  he  wa« 
hanged  if  he  would  ever  take  another  of  her  sort,  at  her  ladyship's 
demise  he  kept  his  promise,  and  selected  for  a  second  wife  Miss  Rose 
Dawson,  daughter  of  Mr.  John  Thomas  Dawson,  ironmonger,  of  Mud- 
bury.     What  a  happy  woman  was  Rose  to  be  my  Lady  Crawley  ! 

Let  us  set  down  the  items  of  her  happiness.  In  the  first  place, 
she  gave  up  Peter  Butt,  a  young  man  who  kept  company  with  her, 
and  in  consequence  of  his  disappointment  in  love  took  to  smuggling, 
poaching,  and  a  thousand  other  bad  courses.  Then  she  quarrelled, 
as  in  duty  bound,  with  all  the  friends  and  intimates  of  her  youth, 
who,  of  course,  could  not  be  received  by  my  Lady  at  Queen's 
Crawley — nor  did  she  find  in  her  new  rank  and  abode  any  persons 
who  were  willing  to  welcome  her.  Who  ever  didl  Sir  Huddle- 
ston  Fuddleston  had  three  daughters  who  all  hoped  to  be  Lady 
Crawley.  Sir  Giles  Wapshot's  family  were  insulted  that  one  of  the 
Wapshot  girls  had  not  the  preference  in  the  marriage,  and  the 
remaining  baronets  of  the  county  were  indignant  at  their  comrade's 
misalliance.  Never  mind  the  commoners,  whom  we  will  leave  to 
grumble  anonymously. 

Sir  Pitt  did  not  care,  as  he  said,  a  brass  farden  for  any  one  of 
them.  He  had  his  pretty  Rose,  and  what  more  need  a  man  require 
than  to  please  himself?  So  he  used  to  get  dnmk  every  night :  to 
beat  his  pretty  Rose  sometimes :  to  leave  her  in  Hampshire  when 
he  went  to  London  for  the  parliamentary  session,  without  a  single 
friend  in  the  wide  world.  Even  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley,  the  Rector's 
wife,  refused  to  visit  her,  as  she  said  she  would  never  give  the  pas 
to  a  tradesman's  daughter. 

As  the  only  endowments  with  which  Nature  had  gifted  Lady 
Crawley  were  those  of  pink  cheeks  and  a  white  skin,  and  as  she 
had  no  sort  of  character,  nor  talents,  nor  opinions,  nor  occupations. 


] 


I 


74  VANITY    FAIR 

nor  amusements,  nor  that  vigour  of  soul  and  ferocity  oi  temper 

which  often  falls  to  the  lot  of  entirely  foolish  women,  her  hold  upon 

Sir  Pitt's  affections  was  not  very  great.     Her  roses  faded  out  of  her 

cheeks,  and  the  pretty  freshness  left  her  figiue  after  the  birth  of  a 

couple  of  children,  and  she  became  a  mere  machine  in  her  husband's  \ 

house,  of  no  more  use  than  the  late  Lady  Crawley's  grand  piano.   \ 

Being  a  light-complexioned  woman  she  wore  light  clothes,  as  most' 

blondes  will,  and  appeared,  in  preference,  in  draggled  sea-green,  or 

slatternly  sky-blue.     She  worked  that  worsted  day  and  night,  or 

other  pieces  like  it.     She  had  counterpanes  in  the  course  of  a  few 

years  to  all  the  beds  in  Crawley.     She  had  a  small  flower-garden, 

for  which  she  had  rather  an  affection ;  but  beyond  this  no  other 

like  or  disliking.     When  her  husband  was  rude  to  her  she  was 

apathetic:  whenever  he  struck  her  she  cried.     She  h_ad_not  char-V 

cter  enough  to  take  to  drinking,  and  moaned  about,  slip-shod  and 

in  curl-papers  all  day.     OJVajuty.JFair— -Vanity  Fair !     This  might.^ 

have  beeU;^  but  for  you,  a  cheery  lass: — Peter  Butt  and  Eose  a^ 

happy'man  and  wife,  in  a  snug  farm,  with  a  hearty  family ;  and  an 

y.  ("\  honest -portion  of  pleasures,  cares,  hopes  and  struggles  : — but  a  title 

^r  and' a  coach  and  four  are_toys  more  precious  than  happiness  in 

^  Vanity  Fair :  and  if  Harry  the  Eighth  or  Bluebeard  were  alive 

^  ..  ^v     now,  and  wanted  a  tenth  wife,  do  you  suppose  he  could  not  get  the 

'   so/'  T"-  prettiest  girl  that  shall  be  presented  this  season? 

r^^    ^         The  languid  dulness  of  their  mamma  did  not,  as  it  may  be 

5  j6  '        supposed,  awaken  much  affection  in  her  little  daughters,  but  they 

were  very  happy  in   the  servants'  hall  and  in  the  stables;   and 

the  Scotch  gardener  having  luckily  a  good  wife  and  some  good 

children,  they  got  a  little  wholesome  society  and  instruction  in  his 

lodge,  which  was  the  only  education  bestowed  upon  them  until 

Miss  Sharp  came. 

Her  engagement  was  owing  to  the  remonstrances  of  Mr.  Pitt 
Crawley,  the  only  friend  or  protector  Lady  Crawley  ever  had,  and 
the  only  person,  besides  her  children,  for  whom  she  entertained  a 
little  feeble  attachment.  Mr.  Pitt  took  after  the  noble  Binkies,  from 
whom  he  was  descended,  and  was  a  very  polite  and  proper  gentle- 
man. When  he  grew  to  man's  estate,  and  came  back  from  Christ- 
church,  he  began  to  reform  the  slackened  discipline  of  the  hall,  in 
1  spite  of  his  father,  who  stood  in  awe  of  him.  He  was  a  man  of 
such  rigid  refinement,  that  he  would  have  starved  rather  than  have 
1  dined  without  a  white  neckcloth.  Once,  when  just  from  college,  and 
when  Horrocks  the  butler  brought  him  a  letter  without  placing  it 
previously  on  a  tray,  he  gave  that  domestic  a  look,  and  administered 
to  him  a  speech  so  cutting,  that  Horrocks  ever  after  trembled  before 
him  j  the  whole  household  bowed  to  him  :  Lady  Crawley's  cmi- 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  75 

papers  came  off  earlier  when  he  was  at  home :  Sir  Pitt's  muddy 
gaiters  disappeared ;  and  if  that  incorrigible  old  man  still  adhered  to 
other  old  habits,  he  never  fuddled  himself  with  rum-and-water  in 
his  son's  presence,  and  only  talked  /to  his  servants  in  a  very  reserved 
and  polite  manner ;  and  those  persons  remarked  that  Sir  Pitt  never 
swore  at  Lady  Crawley  while  his  son  was  in  the  room. 

It  was  he  who  taught  the  butler  to  say,  "  My  lady  is  served," 
and  who  insisted  on  handing  her  ladyship  in  to  dinner.  He  seldom 
spoke  to  her,  but  when  he  did  it  was  with  the  most  powerful 
respect;  and  he  never  let  her  quit  the  apartment,  without  rising 
in  the  most  stately  manner  to  open  the  door,  and  making  an  elegant 
bow  at  her  egress. 

At  Eton  he  was  called  Miss  Crawley ;  and  there,  I  am  sorry  to\  ^ 
say,  his  younger  brother  Rawdon  used  to  lick  him  violently.     But « 
though  his  parts  were  not  brilliant,  he  made  up  for  his  lack  of 
talent  by  meritorious  industry,  and  was  never  known,  during  eight 
years  at  school,  to  be  subject  to  that  punishment  which  it  is  gene- 
rally thought  none  but  a  cherub  can  escape. 
\  ■        At  college  his  career  was  of  course  highly  creditable.     And  here 
^  •  he  prepared  himself  for  public  life,  into  which  he  was  to  be  intro- 
duced by  the  patronage  of  his  grandfather,  Lord  Binkie,  by  studying 
the  ancient  and  modem  orators  with  great  assiduity,  and  by  speaking 
unceasingly  at  the  debating  societies.     But  though  he  had  a  fine 
flux  of  words,  and  delivered  his  little  voice  with  great  pomposity  and 
pleasure  to  himself,  and  never  advanced  any  sentiment  or  opinion 
which  was  not  perfectly  trite  and  stale,  and  supported  by  a  Latin 
[    quotation ;  yet  he  failed  somehow,  in  spite  of  a  mediocrity  which 
J    ought  to  have  ensured  any  man  a  success.     He  did  not  even  get  the 
\     prize  poem,  which  all  his  friends  said  he  was  sure  of. 

After  leaving   college   he  became  Private   Secretary  to  Lord 

Binkie,  and  was  then  appointed  Attach^  to  the  Legation  at  Pumper^ 

nickel,  which  post  he  filled  with  perfect  honour,  and  brought  home 
"d^patches,  consisting  of  Strasburg  pie,  to  the  Foreign  Minister  of 
the  day.     After  remaining  ten  years  Attach^  (several  years  after 
the  lamented  Lord  Binkie's  demise),  and  finding  the  advancement^^^ 
slow,  he  at  length  gave  up  the  diplomatic  service  in  some  disgust,  j 
and  began  to  turn  country  gentleman.  * 

He  wrote  a  pamphlet  on  Malt  on  returning  to  England  (for  he 
was  an  ambitious  man,  and  always  liked  to  be  before  the  public), 
and  took  a  strong  part  in  the  Negro  Emancipation  question.  Then 
he  became  a  Mend  of  Mr.  Wilberforce's,  whose  politics  he  admired, 
and  had  that  famous  correspondence  with  the  Reverend  Silas  Horn- 
blower,  on  the  Ashantee  Mission.  He  was  in  London,  if  not  for  the 
Paiiiameut  session,  at  least  in  May,  for  the  religious  meetings.     In 


76  VANITY    FAIR 

the  country  he  was  a  magistrate,  and  an  active  visitor  and  speaker 
among  those  destitute  of  rehgious  instruction.  He  was  said  to  be 
paying  his  addresses  to  Lady  Jane  Sheepshanks,  Lord  Southdown's 
third  daughter,  and  whose  sister,  Lady  Emily,  wrote  those  sweet 
tracts,  "The  Sailor's  True  Binnacle,"  and  "The  Applewoman  of 
Finchley  Common." 

Miss  Sharp's  accounts  of  his  employment  at  Queen's  Crawley 
were  not  caricatures.  He  subjected  the  servants  there  to  the  devo- 
tional exercises  before  mentioned,  in  which  (and  so  much  the  better) 
he  brought  his  father  to  join.  He  patronised  an  Independent 
meeting-house  in  Crawley  parish,  much  to  the  indignation  of  his 
uncle  the  Rector,  and  to  the  consequent  delight  of  Sir  Pitt,  who 
was  induced  to  go  himself  once  or  twice,  which  occasioned  some 
violent  sermons  at  Crawley  parish  church,  directed  point-blank  at 
the  Baronet's  old  Gothic  pew  there.  Honest  Sir  Pitt,  however,  did 
not  feel  the  force  of  these  discourses,  as  he  always  took  his  nap 
during  sermon-time. 

Mr.  Crawley  was  very  earnest,  for  the  good  of  the  nation  and  of 
the  Christian  world,  that  the  old  gentleman  should  yield  him  up  his 
place  in  Parliament ;  but  this  the  elder  constantly  refused  to  do.  Both 
vWere  of  course  too  prudent  to  give  up  the  fifteen  hundred  a  year  which 
was  brought  in  by  the  second  seat  (at  this  period  filled  by  Mr.  Quad- 
roon, with  carte-blanche  on  the  Slave  question) ;  indeed  the  family 
estate  was  much  embarrassed,  and  the  income  drawn  from  the  borough 
was  of  great  use  to  the  house  of  Queen's  Crawley. 

It  had  never  recovered  the  heavy  fine  imposed  upon  Walpole 
Crawley,  first  baronet,  for  peculation  in  the  Tape  and  Sealing  Wax 
Office.  Sir  Walpole  was  a  jolly  fellow,  eager  to  seize  and  to  spend 
money  ("  alieni  appetens,  sui  profusus,"  as  Mr.  Crawley  would  remark 
with  a  sigh),  and  in  his  day  beloved  by  all  the  county  for  the  constant 
drunkenness  and  hospitality  which  was  maintained  at  Queen's  Crawley. 
The  cellars  were  filled  with  burgundy  then,  the  kennels  with  hounds, 
and  the  stables  with  gallant  hunters ;  now,  such  horses  as  Queen's 
Crawley  possessed  went  to  plough,  or  ran  in  the  Trafalgar  Coaiih ; 
and  it  was  with  a  team  of  these  very  horses,  on  an  oft-day,  that  Miss 
Sharp  was  brought  to  the  Hall ;  for  boor  as  he  was.  Sir  Pitt  was  aj 
stickler  for  his  dignity  while  at  home,  and  seldom  duove  out  but  with 
four  horses,  and  though  he  dined  off  boiled  mutton,  had  always  three 
footmen  to  serve  it. 

If  mere  parsimony  could  have  made  a  man  rich,  Sir  Pitt  Crawley 
might  have  become  very  wealthy — if  he  had  been  an  attorney  in  a 
country  town,  with  no  capital  but  his  brains,  it  is  very  possible  that 
he  would  have  turned  them  to  good  account,  and  might  have  achieved 
for  himself  a  very  considerable  influence  and  competency.     But  he 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  77 

was  unluckily  endowed  with  a  gQod-na.nie  a.nd  a.  largetliougb  ^ncuro— 
Sered  estate^  both  of  which  went  rather  to  injui'e  than  to  advance-— 
him^_^e  had  a  taste  for  law,  whicli  cost  liiin  many  thousands  yearly  : 
and  being  a  great  deal  too  clever  /to  be  robbed,  as  he  said,  by  any 
single  agent,  allowed  his  affairs  to  be  mismanaged  by  a  dozen,  whom 
he  all  equally  mistrusted.  He  was  such  a  sharp  landlord,  that  he 
could  hardly  find  any  but  bankrupt  tenants ;  and  such  a  close  farmer, 
as  to  grudge  almost  the  seed  to  the  ground,  whereupon  revengeful 
Nature  grudged  him  the  crops  which  she  granted  to  more  liberal 
husbandmen.  He  speculated  in  every  possible  way;  he  worked 
mines ;  bought  canal-shares  ;  horsed  coaches ;  took  government  con- 
tracts, and  was  the  busiest  man  and  magistrate  of  his  county.  As 
he  would  not  pay  honest  agents  at  his  granite  quarry,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  finding  that  four  overseers  r^n  away,  and  took  fortunes 
with  them  to  America.  For  want  of  proper  precautions,  his  coal- 
mines filled  with  water :  the  government  flung  his  contract  of  damaged 
beef  upon  his  hands  :  and  for  his  coach-horses,  every  mail  proprietor 
in  the  kingdom  knew  that  he  lost  more  horses  than  any  man  in  the 
country,  from  underfeeding  and  buying  cheap.  In  disposition  he  was 
sociable,  and  far  from  being  proud;  nay,  he  rather  preferred  the 
"society  of  a  farmer  or  a  horse-dealer  to  that  of  a  gentleman,  like  my 
lord,  his  son  :  he  was  fond  of  drink,  of  swearing,  of  joking  with  the 
farmers'  daughters :  he  was  never  known  to  give  away  a  shilling 
to  do  a  good  action,  but  was  of  a  pleasant,  sly,  laughing  mood 
would  cut  his  joke  and  drink  his  glass  with  a  tenant  and  sell  him  u_gji 
the  next  day ;  or  have  his  laugh  with  the  poacher  he  was  transporting 
with  equal  good  humour.  His  politeness  for  the  fair  sex  has  already 
been  hinted  at  by  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp — ^in  a  w_ordj  the  whole  baronet-\\ 
e,  peerage,  commonage  of  England,  did  not  contain  a  more  cunning,  || 


mmirS'elflali,  foolish,  disreputable  old  man.  That  blood-red  hand  of 
Sir^Pitt  Crawley's  would  be  in  anybody's  pocket  except  his  own ; 
and  it  is  with  grief  and  pain,  that,  as  admirers  of  the  British  aris- 
tocracy, we  find  ourselves  obliged  to  admit  the  existence  of  so  many 
ill  qualities  in  a  person  whose  name  is  in  Debrett. 

One  great  cause  why  Mr.  Crawley  had  such  a  hold  over  the 
affections  of  his  father,  resulted  from  money  arrangements/-  The 
Baronet  owed  his  son  a  sum  of  motoey  out  of  the  jointure  of  his 
mother,  whic^h  he  did  not  find  it  convenient  to  pay ;  indeed  he  had 
an  almost  invincible  repugnance  to  paying  anybody,  and  coidd  only 
be  brought  by  force  to  discharge  his  debts.  Miss  Sharp  calculated 
(for  she  became,  as  we  shall  hear  speedily,  inducted  into  most  of  the 
secrets  of  the  family)  that  the  mere  payment  of  his  creditors  cost  the 
honourable  Baronet  several  hundreds  yearly ;  but  this  was  a  delight 
he  could  not  Ibrego;  he  had  a  savage  pleasure  in  making  the  poor 


bh  the  y 

ing  or  I     X 
i,  andl     ' 


78  VANITY    FAIR 

wretches  wait,  and  in  shifting  from  court  to  court  and  from  term  to 
term  the  period  of  satisfaction.  What's  the  good  of  being  in  Parlia- 
ment, he  said,  if  you  must  pay  your  debts?  Hence,  indeed,  his 
position  as  a  senator  was  not  a  little  useful  to  him. 

Vanity  Fair — "Vanity  Fair !  Here  was  a  man,  who  could  not 
spell/anadidTnot  care  to  read — who  had  the  habits  and  the  cunning 
of  a  boor:  whose  aim  in  life  was  pettifogging :  who  never  had  a 
taste,  or  emotion,  or  enjoyment,  but  what  was  sordid  and  foid  ;  and_ 
yet  he  had  rank,  and  honours,  and -power,  somehow:  and  was  a 
dignitary  of  the  land,  and  a  pillar  of  the  state.  He  was  high 
sheriff,  and  rode  in  a  golden  coach.  Great  ministers  and  statesmen 
courted  him;  and  in  Vanity  Fair  he  had  a  higher  place  than  the 
most  brilliant  genius  or  spotless  virtue. 

Sir  Pitt  had  an  unmarried  half-sister  who  inherited  her  mother's 
large  fortune,  and  though  the  Baronet  proposed  to  borrow  this 
money  of  her  on  mortgage,  Miss  Crawley  declined  the  offer,  and 
preferred  the  security  of  the  Funds.  She  had  signified,  however, 
her  intention  of  leaving  her  inheritance  between  Sir  Pitt's  second 

/  son  and  the  family  at  the  Rectory,  and  had  once  or  twice  paid  the 

I  debts  of  Rawdon  Crawley  in  his  career  at  college  and  in  thfi.army. 

'  Miss  Crawley  was,  in  consequence,  an  object  of  great  respect  when 
she  came  to  Queen's  Crawley,  for  she  had  a  balance  at  her  banker's 
which  would  have  made  her  beloved  anywhere. 

What   a  dignity  it  gives   an   old  lady,  that  balance  at  the 

''  banker's  !  How  tenderly  we  look  at  her  faults  if  she  is  a  relative 
(and  may  every  reader  have  a  score  of  such),  what  a  kind  good- 
natured  old  creature  we  find  her !  How  the  junior  partner  of 
Hobbs  and  Dobbs  leads  her  smiling  to  the  carriage  with  the  lozenge 
upon  it,  and  the  fat  wheezy  coachman !  How,  when  she  comes  to 
pay  us  a  visit,  we  generally  find  an  opportunity  to  let  our  friends 
know  her  station  in  the  world  !  We  say  (and  with  perfect  truth) 
I  wish  I  had  Miss  MacWhirter's  signature  to  a  cheque  for  five 
thousand  pounds.  She  wouldn't  miss  it,  says  your  wife.  She  is 
my  aunt,  say  you,  in  an  easy  careless  way,  when  your  friend  asks  if 
Miss  MacWhirter  is  any  relative.  Your  wife  is  perpetually  sending 
her  little  testimonies  of  affection,  your  little  girls  work  endless 
worsted  baskets,  cushions,  and  footstools  for  her.  What  a  good 
fire  there  is  in  her  room  when  she  comes  to  pay  you  a  visit, 
although  your  wife  laces  her  stays  without  one  !  The  house  during 
her  stay  assumes  a  festive,  neat,  warm,  jovial,  snug  appearance  not 
visible  at  other  seasons.  You  yourself,  dear  sir,  forget  to  go  to 
sleep  after  dinner,  and  find  yourself  all  of  a  sudden  (though  you 
invariably  lose)  very  fond  of  a  rubber.     What  good  dinners  you 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  79 

have — game  every  day,  Malmsey-Madeira,  and  no  end  of  fish  from 
London.  Even  the  servants  in.  the  kitchen  share  in  the  general 
prosperity ;  and,  somehow,  during  the  stay  of  Miss  MacWhirter's 
fat  coachman,  the  beer  is  grown  mu6h  stronger,  and  the  consumption 
of  tea  and  sugar  in  the  nursery  (where  her  maid  takes  her  meals) 
is  not  regarded  in  the  least.  Is  it  so,  or  is  it  not  so  ?  I  appeal  to 
the  middle  classes.  Ah,  gracious  powers  !  I  wish  you  would  send 
me  an  old  aunt — a  maiden  aunt — an  aunt  with  a  lozenge  on  her 
carriage,  and  a  front  of  light  coffee-coloured  hair — how  my  children 
should  work  workbags  for  her,  and  my  Julia  and  I  would  make  her 
comfortable  !     Sweet — sweet  vision  !     Foolish — foolish  dream ! 


CHAPTER  X 

MISS  SHARP  BEGINS   TO  MAKE  FRIENDS 

A  ND  now,  being  received  as  a  member  of  the  amiable  family 
/a  whose  portraits  we  have  sketched  in  the  foregoing  pages,  it 
-*  *-  became  naturally  Rebecca's  duty  to  make  herself,  as  she  said, 
agreeable  to  her  benefactors,  and  to  gain  their  confidence  t^  the 
utmost  of  her  power.  Who  can  but  admire  this  quality  of  gratitude 
in  an  unprotected  orphan ;  and,  if  there  entered  some  degree  of  selfish- 
ness into  her  calculations,  who  can  say  but  that  her  prudence  was 
perfectly  justifiable  ?  "  I  am  alone  in  the  world,"  said  the  friendless 
girl.  "I  have  nothing  to  look  for  but  what  my  own  labour  can 
bring  me ;  and  while  that  little  pink-faced  chit  Amelia,  with  not  half 
ray  sense,  has  ten  thousand  pounds  and  an  establishment  secure,  poor 
Rebecca  (and  my  figure  is  far  better  than  hers)  has  only  herself  and 
her  own  wits  to  trust  to.  Well^  let  us  see  if  my  wits  cannot  provide 
me  with  an  honourable  maintenance,  and  if  some  day  or  the  other 
I  cannot  show  Miss  Amelia  my  real  superiority  over  her.  Not  that 
I  dislike  poor  Amelia  :  who  can  dislike  such  a  harmless,  good-natured 
creature  1 — only  it  will  be  a  fine  day  when  I  can  take  my  place  above 
her  in  the  world,  as  why,  indeed,  should  I  not  1 "  Thus  it  was  that 
our  little  romantic  friend  formed  visions  of  the  future  for  herself, — 
nor  must  we  be  scandalised  that,  in  all  her  castles  in  the  air,  a 
husband  was  the  principal  inhabitant.  Of  what  else  have  young 
ladies  to  think,  but  husbands  ?  Of  what  else  do  their  dear  mammas 
think ?  "I  must  be  my  own  mamma,"  said  Rebecca ;  not  without 
a  tingling  consciousness  of  defeat,  as  she  thought  over  her  little  mis- 
adventure with  Jos  Sedley. 

So  she  wisely  determined  to  render  her  position  with  the  Queen's 
Crawley  family  comfortable  and  secure,  and  to  this  end  resolved  to 
make  friends  of  every  one  around  her  who  could  at  all  interfere 
with  her  comfort. 

As  my  Lady  Crawley  was  not  one  of  these  personages,  and  a 
woman,  moreover,  so  indolent  and  void  of  character  as  not  to  be  of 
the  least  consequence  in  her  own  house,  Rebecca  soon  found  that  it 
was  not  at  all  necessary  to  cultivate  her  good  will — indeed,  impos- 
sible to  gain  it.     She  used  to  talk  to  her  pupils  about  their  "  poor 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  81 

mamma ; "  and,  though  she  treated  that  lady  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  cool  respect,  it  was  to  the  rest  of  the  family  that  she  wisely 
directed  the  chief  part  of  her  attentions. 

With  the  young  people,  whose 4tpplause  she  thoroughly  gained, 
her  method  was  pretty  simple.  She  did  not  pester  their  young 
brains  with  too  much  learning,  but,  on  the  contrary,  let  them  have 
their  own  way  in  regard  to  educating  themselves ;  for  what  instmc- 
tion  is  more  effectual  than  self-instruction  1  The  eldest  was  rather 
fond  of  books,  and  as  there  was  in  the  old  library  at  Queen's  Crawley 
a  considerable  provision  of  works  of  light  literature  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, both  in  the  French  and  English  languages  (they  had  been 
purchased  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax  Office  at 
the  period  of  his  disgrace),  and  as  nobody  ever  troubled  the  book- 
shelves but  herself,  Rebecca  was  enabled  agreeably,  and,  as  it 
were,  in  playing,  to  impart  a  great  deal  of  instruction  to  Miss  Rose 
Crawley. 

She  and  Miss  Rose  thus  read  together  many  delightful  French 
and  English  works,  among  which  may  be  mentioned  those  of  the 
learned  Dr.  Smollett,  of  the  ingenious  Mr.  Henry  Fielding,  of  the 
graceful  and  fantastic  Monsieur  Cr^billon  the  younger,  whom  our 
immortal  poet  Gray  so  much  admired,  and  of  the  universal  Monsieur 
de  Voltaire.  Once,  when  Mr.  Crawley  asked  what  the  young  people 
were  reading,  the  governess  replied  "  Smollett."  "  Oh,  Smollett," 
said  Mr.  Crawley,  quite  satisfied.  "  His  history  is  more  dull,  but  by 
no  means  so  dangerous  as  that  of  Mr.  Hume.  It  is  history  you  are 
reading  1"  "Yes,"  said  Miss  Rose;  without,  however,  adding  that 
it  was  the  history  of  Mr.  Humphrey  Clinker.  On  another  occasion 
he  was  rather  scandalised  at  finding  his  sister  with  a  book  of  French 
plays ;  but  as  the  governess  remarked  that  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 
acquiring  the  French  idiom  in  conversation,  he  was  fain  to  be  content. 
'Mr.  Crawley,  as  a  diplomatist,  was  exceedingly  proud  of  his  own 
skill  in  speaking  the  French  language  (for  he  was  of  the  world  still), 
and  not  a  little  pleased  with  the  compliments  which  the  governess 
continually  paid  him  upon  his  proficiency. 

Miss  Violet's  tastes  were,  on  the  contrary,  more  rude  and 
boisterous  than  those  of  her  sister.  She  knew  the  sequestered 
spots  where  the  hens  laid  their  eggs.  She  could  climb  a  tree  to 
rob  the  nests  of  the  feathered  songsters  of  their  speckled  spoils. 
And  her  pleasure  was  to  ride  the  young  colts,  and  to  scour  the  plains 
like  Camilla.  She  was  the  favourite  of  her  father  and  of  the  stable- 
men. She  was  the  darling,  and  withal  the  terror  of  the  cook  ;  for 
she  discovered  the  haunts  of  the  jam-pots,  and  would  attack  them 
when  they  were  within  her  reach.  She  and  her  sister  were  en- 
gaged in  constant  battles.     Any  of  which  peccadilloes,  if  Miss  Sharp 


82  VANITY    FAIR 

discovered,  she  did  not  tell  them  to  Lady  Crawley,  who  would  have 
told  them  to  the  father,  or  worse,  to  Mr.  Crawley ;  but  promised  not 
to  tell  if  Miss  Violet  would  be  a  good  girl  and  love  her  governess. 

With  Mr.  Crawley  Miss  Sharp  was  respectful  and  obedient. 
She  used  to  consult  him  on  passages  of  French  which  she  could  not 
understand,  though  her  mother  was  a  French v/oman,  and  which  he 
would  constme  to  her  satisfaction  :  and,  besides  giving  her  his  aid 
in  profane  literature,  he  was  kind  enough  to  select  for  her  books  of 
a  more  serious  tendency,  and  address  to  her  much  of  his  conversation. 
She  admired,  beyond  measure,  his  speech  at  the  Quashimaboo-Aid 
Society ;  took  an  interest  in  his  pamphlet  on  Malt :  was  often 
affected,  even  to  tears,  by  his  discourses  of  an  evening,  and  would 
say — "  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  with  a  sigh,  and  a  look  up  to  heaven, 
that  made  him  occasionally  condescend  to  shake  hands  with  her. 
"  Blood  is  everything,  after  all,"  would  that  aristocratic  religionist 
say.  "  How  Miss  Sharp  is  awakened  by  my  words,  when  not  one 
of  the  people  here  is  touched !  I  am  too  fine  for  them — too  delicate. 
I  must  familiarise  my  style — ^but  she  understands  it.  Her  mother 
was  a  Montmorency." 

Indeed  it  was  from  this  famous  family,  as  it  appears,  that  Miss 
Sharp,  by  the  mother's  side,  was  descended.  Of  course  she  did 
not  say  that  her  mother  had  been  on  the  stage ;  it  would  have 
shocked  Mr.  Crawley's  religious  scruples.  How  many  noble  emigrees 
had  this  horrid  revolution  plunged  in  poverty  !  She  had  several 
stories  about  her  ancestors  ere  she  had  been  many  months  in  the 
house  ;  some  of  which  Mr.  Crawley  happened  to  find  in  D'Hozier's 
dictionary,  which  was  in  the  library,  and  which  strengthened  his 
belief  in  their  truth,  and  in  the  high-breeding  of  Rebecca.  Are  we 
to  suppose  from  this  curiosity  and  prying  into  dictionaries,  could  our 
heroine  suppose,  that  Mr.  Crawley  was  interested  in  her  1 — no,  only 
in  a  friendly  way.  Have  we  not  stated  that  he  was  attached  to 
Lady  Jane  Sheepshanks  ? 

He  took  Rebecca  to  task  once  or  twice  about  the  propriety  of 
playing  at  backgammon  with  Sir  Pitt,  saying  that  it  was  a  godless 
amusement,  and  that  she  would  be  much  better  engaged  in  reading 
"  Thrump's  Legacy,"  or  "  The  Blind  Washerwoman  of  Moorfields," 
or  any  work  of  a  more  serious  nature ;  but  Miss  Sharp  said  her 
dear  mother  used  often  to  play  the  same  game  with  the  old  Count 
de  Trictrac  and  the  venerable  Abb^  du  Comet,  and  so  found  an 
excuse  for  this  and  other  worldly  amusements. 

But  it  was  not  only  by  playing  at  backgammon  with  the  Baronet 
that  the  little  governess  rendered  herself  agreeable  to  her  employer. 
She  found  many  different  ways  of  being  useful  to  him.  She  read 
over,  with  indefatigable  patience,  all  those  law  papers,  with  which, 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  ^ 

before  she  came  to  Queen's  Crawley,  he  had  promised  to  entertain 
her.  She  volunteered  to  copy  many  of  his  letters,  and  adroitly 
altered  the  spelling  of  them  so  as  to  suit  the  usages  of  the  present 
day.  She  became  interested  in  everything  appertaining  to  the  estate, 
to  the  farm,  the  park,  the  garden,  and  the  stables ;  and  so  delightful 
a  companion  was  she,  that  the  Baronet  would  seldom  take  his  after- 
breakfast  walk  without  her  (and  the  children  of  course),  when  she 
would  give  her  advice  as  to  the  trees  which  were  to  be  lopped  in  the 
shrubberies,  the  garden-beds  to  be  dug,  the  crops  which  were  to  be 
cut,  the  horses  which  were  to  go  to  cart  or  plough.  Before  she  had 
been  a  year  at  Queen's  Crawley  she  had  quite  won  the  Baronet's 
confidence^  and  the  conversation  at  the  dinner-table,  which  before 
used  to  be  held  between  him  and  Mr.  Horrocks  the  butler,  was  now 
almost  exclusively  between  Sir  Pitt  and  Miss  Sharp.  She  was 
almost  mistress  of  the  house  when  Mr.  Crawley  was  absent,  but 
conducted  herself  in  her  new  and  exalted  situation  with  such  circum- 
spection and  modesty  as  not  to  offend  the  authorities  of  the  kitchen  ^ 
and  stable,  among  whom  her  behaviour  was  always  exceedingly 
modest  and  affable.  She  was  quite  a  different  person  from  the 
haughty,  shy,  dissatisfied  little  girl  whom  we  have  known  previously, 
and  this  change  of  temper  proved  great  prudence,  a  sincere  desire  of 
amendment,  or  at  any  rate  great  moral  courage  on  her  part.  Whether 
it  was  the  heart  which  dictated  this  new  system  of  complaisance  and 
humility  adopted  by  our  Rebecca,  is  to  be  proved  by  her  after- 
history.  A  system  of  hypocrisy,  which  lasts  through  whole  years^^ 
:  is  one  seldom  satisfactory  practised  by  a  person  of  one-and-twenty;  , 
^^ ^however,  our  readers  will  recollect,  that,  though  young  in  years," 
our  heroine  was  old  in  life  and  experience,  and  we  have  written 
to  no  purpose  if  they  have  not  discovered  that  she  was  a  very 
clever  woman. 

The  elder  and  younger  son  of  the  house  of  Crawley  were,  like  the 
gentleman  and  lady  in  the  weather-box,  never  at  home  together — 
they  hated  each  other  cordially:  indeed,  Rawdon  Crawley,  the 
dragoon,  had  a  great  contempt  for  the  establishment  altogether,  and 
seldom  came  thither  except  when  his  aunt  paid  her  annual  visit. 

The  great  good  quality  of  this  old  lady  has  been  mentioned.  She 
possessed  seventy  thousand  pounds,  and  had  almost  adopted  Rawdon. 
She  disliked  her  elder  nephew  exceedingly,  and  despised  him  as  a 
milksop.  In  return  he  did  not  hesitate  to  state  that  her  soul  was 
irretrievably  lost,  and  was  of  opinion  that  his  brother's  chance  in 
the  next  world  was  not  a  whit  better.  "  She  is  a  godless  woman 
of  the  world,"  would  Mr.  Crawley  say ;  "  she  lives  with  atheists  and  J^ 
Frenchmen.  My  mind  shudders  when  I  think  of  her  awful,  awful 
situation,  and  that,  near  as  she  is  to  the  grave,  she  should  be  so  given 


§4  VANITY    FAIR 

up  to  vanity,  licentiousness,  profaneness,  and  folly."  In  fact,  the  old 
lady  declined  altogether  to  hear  his  hour's  lecture  of  an  evening ;  and 
when  she  came  to  Queen's  Crawley  alone,  he  was  obliged  to  pretermit 
his  usual  devotional  exercises. 

"  Shut  up  your  sarmons,  Pitt,  when  Miss  Crawley  comes  down," 
said  his  father;  "she  has  written  to  say  that  she  won't  stand  the 
preachifying." 

"0  sir  !  consider  the  servants." 

"  The  servants  be  hanged  ! "  said  Sir  Pitt ;  and  his  son  thought 
even  worse  would  happen  were  they  deprived  of  the  benefit  of  his 
instruction. 

"  Why,  hang  it,  Pitt ! "  said  the  father  to  his  remonstrance. 
"  You  wouldn't  be  such  a  flat  as  to  let  three  thousand  a  year  go  out 
of  the  family  r' 

"What  is  money  compared  to  our  souls,  sir?"  continued  Mr. 
Crawley. 

"  You  mean  that  the  old  lady  won't  leave  the  money  to  you  1 " — 
and  who  knows  but  it  was  Mr.  Crawley's  meaning  1 

Old  Miss  Crawley  was  certainly  one  of  the  reprobate.  She  had 
a  snug  little  house  in  Park  Lane,  and,  as  she  ate  and  drank  a  great 
deal  too  much  during  the  season  in  London,  she  went  to  Harrowgate 
or  Cheltenham  for  the  summer.  She  was  the  most  hospitable  and 
jovial  of  old  vestals,  and  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  day,  she  said. 
(All  old  women  were  beauties  once,  we  very  well  know.)  She  was  a 
hel  esprit,  and  a  dreadful  Radical  for  those  days.  She  had  been  in 
France  (where  St.  Just,  they  say,  inspired  her  with  an  unfortunate 
passion),  and  loved,  ever  after,  French  novels,  French  cookery,  and 
French  wines.  She  read  Voltaire,  and  had  Rousseau  by  heart; 
talked  very  lightly  about  divorce,  and  most  energetically  of  the  rights 
of  women.  She  had  pictures  of  Mr.  Fox  in  every  room  in  the  house  : 
when  that  statesman  was  in  opposition,  I  am  not  sure  that  she  had 
not  flung  a  main  with  him ;  and  when  he  came  into  ofiice,  she  took 
great  credit  for  bringing  over  to  him  Sir  Pitt  and  his  colleague  for 
Queen's  Crawley,  although  Sir  Pitt  would  have  come  over  himself, 
without  any  trouble  on  the  honest  lady's  part.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  Sir  Pitt  was  brought  to  change  his  views  after  the  death  of  the 
great  Whig  statesman. 

This  worthy  old  lady  took  a  fancy  to  Rawdon  Crawley  when  a 
boy,  sent  him  to  Cambridge  (in  opposition  to  his  brother  at  Oxford), 
and,  when  the  young  man  was  requested  by  the  authorities  of  the 
first-named  University  to  quit  after  a  residence  of  two  years,  slie 
bought  him  his  commission  in  the  Life  Guards  Green. 

A  perfect  and  celebrated  "  blood,"  or  dandy  about  town,  was  this 
young  oflicer.    Boxing,  rat-hunting,  the  fives  court,  and  four-in-hand 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  85 

driving  were  then  the  fashion  of  our  British  aristocracy ;  and  he  wa« 
an  adept  in  all  these  noble  sciences.  And  though  he  belonged  to 
the  household  troops,  who,  as  it  was  their  duty  to  rally  round  the 
Prince  Regent,  had  not  shown  thdr  valour  in  foreign  service  yet, 
Rawdon  Crawley  had  already  (apropos  of  play,  of  which  he  was 
immoderately  fond)  fought  three  bloody  duels,  in  which  he  gave 
ample  proofs  of  his  contempt  for  death. 

"  And  for  what  follows  after  death,"  would  Mr.  Crawley  observe, 
throwing  his  gooseberry-coloured  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling.  He  was 
always  thinking  of  his  brother's  soul,  or  of  the  souls  of  those  who 
differed  with  him  in  opinion  :  it  is  a  sort  of  comfort  which  many  of 
the  serious  give  themselves. 

Silly,  romantic  Miss  Crawley,  far  from  being  horrified  at  the 
courage  of  her  favourite,  always  used  to  pay  his  debts  after  his 
duels ;  and  would  not  listen  to  a  word  that  was  whispered  against 
his  morality.  "  He  will  sow  his  wild-oats,"  she  would  say,  "  and  is 
worth  far  more  than  that  puling  hypocrite  of  a  brother  of  his." 


K 


\^  '  CHAPTER    XI 


(X  ARCADIAN    SIMPLICITY 


BESIDES  these  honest  folks  at  the  Hall  (whose  simplicity  and 
sweet  rural  purity  surely  show  the  advantage  of  a  country  life 
over  a  town  one),  we  must  introduce  the  reader  to  their  rela- 
tives and  neighbours  at  the  Rectory,  Bute  Crawley  and  his  wife. 

The  Reverend  Bute  Crawley  was  a  tall,  stately,  jolly,  shovel- 
hatted  man,  far  more  popular  in  his  county  than  the  Baronet  his 
brother.  At  college  he  pulled  stroke-oar  in  the  Christchurch  boat, 
and  had  thrashed  all  the  best  bruisers  of  the  "  town."  He  carried 
his  taste  for  boxing  and  athletic  exercises  into  private  life ;  there 
was  not  a  fight  within  twenty  miles  at  which  he  was  not  present, 
nor  a  race,  nor  a  coursing  match,  nor  a  regatta,  nor  a  ball,  nor  an 
election,  nor  a  visitation  dinner,  nor  indeed  a  good  dinner  in  the 
whole  county,  but  he  found  means  to  attend  it.  You  might  see  his 
bay-mare  and  gig-lamps  a  score  of  miles  away  from  his  Rectory 
House,  whenever  there  was  any  dinner-party  at  Fuddleston,  or  at 
Roxby,  or  at  Wapshot  Hall,  or  at  the  great  lords  of  the  county, 
with  all  of  whom  he  was  intimate.  He  had  a  fine  voice ;  sang  "  A 
southerly  wind  and  a  cloudy  sky ; "  and  gave  the  "  whoop  "  in  chorus 
with  general  applause.  He  rode  to  hounds  in  a  pepper-and-salt 
frock,  and  was  one  of  the  best  fishermen  in  the  county. 

Mrs.  Crawley,  the  Rector's  wife,  was  a  smart  little  body,  who 
wrote  this  worthy  divine's  sermons.  Being  of  a  domestic  turn,  an.d 
keeping  the  house  a  great  deal  with  her  daughters,  she  ruled  abso- 
lutely within  the  Rectory,  wisely  giving  her  husband  full  liberty 
without.  He  was  welcome  to  come  and  go,  and  dine  abroad  as 
many  days  as  his  fancy  dictated,  for  Mrs.  Crawley  was  a  saving 
woman  and  knew  the  price  of  port  wine.  Ever  since  Mrs.  Bute 
carried  off  the  young  Rector  of  Queen's  Crawley  (she  was  of  a  good 
family,  daughter  of  the  late  Lieut. -Colonel  Hector  MacTavish,  and 
she  and  her  mother  played  for  Bute  and  won  him  at  Harrowgate), 
she  had  been  a  prudent  and  thrifty  wife  to  him.  In  spite  of  her 
care,  however,  he  was  always  in  debt.  It  took  him  at  least  ten 
years  to  pay  off  his  college  bills  contracted  during  his  father's  life- 
time.    In  the  year  179 — ,  when  he  was  just  clear  of  these  incum- 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  87 

brances,  he  gave  the  odds  of  100  to  1  (in  twenties)  against  Kangaroo, 
who  won  the  Derby.  The  Rector  was  obliged  to  take  up  the  money 
at  a  ruinous  interest,  and  had  been  struggling  ever  since.  His 
sister  helped  him  with  a  hundred  ifow  and  then,  but  of  course  his 
great  hope  was  in  her  death — when  "  hang  it "  (as  he  would  say), 
"  Matilda  must  leave  me  half  her  money." 

So  that  the  Baronet  and  his  brother  had  every  reason  which 
two  brothers  possibly  can  have  for  being  by  the  ears.     Sir  Pitt  had 
had  the  better  of  Bute  in  innumerable  family  transactions.     Young 
Pitt  not  only  did  not  hunt,  but  set  up  a  meeting-house  under  his 
uncle's  very  nose.     Rawdon,  it  was  known,  was  to  come  in  for  the 
bulk  of  Miss  Crawley's  property.     These  money  transactions — these 
speculations  in  life  and  death — these  silent  battles  for  reversionary  .    - 
spoH^j^nakeT^rothers  very  loving  towards  each  other  in  Vanity  Fair  j/ 
I,  for  my  "part,  have  known  a  five-pound  note  to  interpose  and/ ^ 
knock  up  a  half-century's  attachment  between  two  brethren ;  and 
can't  but  admire,  as  I  think  what  a  fine  and  durable  thing  Love  ia 
among  worldly  people. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  the  arrival  of  such  a  pei*sonage  as 
Rebecca  at  Queen's  Crawley,  and  her  gi'adual  establishment  in  the 
good  graces  of  all  people  there,  could  be  unremarked  by  Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley.  Mrs.  Bute,  who  knew  how  many  days  the  sirloin  of  beef 
lasted  at  the  Hall ;  how  much  linen  was  got  ready  at  the  great 
wash ;  how  many  peaches  were  on  the  south  wall ;  how  many  doses 
her  ladyship  took  when  she  was  ill — for  such  points  are  matters  of 
intense  interest  to  certain  persons  in  the  country— Mrs.  Bute,  I  say. 
could  not  pass  over  the  Hall  governess  without  making  every  inquiry 
respecting  her  history  and  character.  There  was  always  the  best 
understanding  between  the  servants  at  the  Rectory  and  the  Hall. 
There  was  always  a  good  glass  of  ale  in  the  kitchen  of  the  former 
place  for  the  Hall  people,  whose  ordinary  drink  was  very  small — 
and,  indeed,  the  Rector's  lady  knew  exactly  how  much  malt  went 
to  every  barrel  of  Hall  beer — ties  of  relationship  existed  between 
the  Hall  and  Rectory  domestics,  as  between  their  masters ;  and 
through  these  channels  each  family  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  \ 
with  the  doings  of  the  other.  That,  by  the  way,  may  be  set  down  \ 
as  a  general  remark.  When  you  and  your  brother  are  friends,  his  X 
doings  are  indifferent  to  you.  When  you  have  quarrelled,  all  his 
outgoings  and  incomings  you  know,  as  if  you  were  his  spy. 

Very  soon  then  after  her  arrival,  Rebecca  began  to  take  a  regular 
place  in  Mrs.  Crawley's  bulletin  fi-om  the  Hall.  It  was  to  this 
effect : — "  The  black  porker's  killed— weighed  x  stone — salted  the 
sides — pig's  pudding  and  leg  of  pork  for  dinner.  Mr.  Cramp  from 
Mudbury,  over  with  Sir  Pitt  about  putting  John  Blackmore  in  gaol 

K* 


8^  Vanity  fair 

— Mr.  Pitt  at  meeting  (with  all  the  names  of  the  people  who 
attended) — my  lady  as  usual — the  young  ladies  with  the  governess." 

Then  the  report  would  come — the  new  governess  be  a  rare 
manager — Sir  Pitt  be  very  sweet  on  her — Mr.  Crawley  too — He  be 
reading  tracts  to  her — "  What  an  abandoned  wretch  !  "  said  Httle, 
eager,  active,  black-faced  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley. 

Finally,  the  reports  were  that  the  governess  had  "  come  round  " 
everybody,  wrote  Sir  Pitt's  letters,  did  his  business,  managed  his 
accounts — had  the  upper  hand  of  the  whole  house,  my  lady,  Mr. 
Crawley,  the  girls  and  all — at  which  Mrs.  Crawley  declared  she  was 
an  artful  hussy,  and  had  some  dreadful  designs  in  view.  Thus  the 
doings  at  the  Hall  were  the  great  food  for  conversation  at  the 
Rectory,  and  Mrs.  Bute's  bright  eyes  spied  out  everything  that  took 
place  in  the  enemy's  camp — everything  and  a  great  deal  besides. 

"  MRS.    BUTE   CEAWLEY   TO   MISS   PINKERTON,    THE   MALL, 
CHISWICK. 

"  Rectory,  Queen's  Crawley,  December  — . 

"  My  dear  Madam, — Although  it  is  so  many  years  since  I 
profited  by  .your  delightful  and  invaluable  instructions,  yet  I  have 
ever  retained  the  fondest  and  most  reverential  regard  for  Miss 
Pinkerton,  and  dear  Chiswick.  I  hope  your  health  is  good.  The 
world  and  the  cause  of  education  cannot  afford  to  lose  Miss  Pinker- 
ton  for  many  many  years.  When  my  friend.  Lady  Fuddleston, 
mentioned  that  her  dear  girls  required  an  instructress  (I  am  too  poor 
to  engage  a  governess  for  mine,  but  was  I  not  educated  at  Chiswick  1) 
— '  Who,'  I  exclaimed,  '  can  we  consult  but  the  excellent,  the  incom- 
parable Miss  Pinkerton?'  In  a  word,  have  you,  dear  madam,  any 
ladies  on  your  list,  whose  services  might  be  made  available  to  my 
kind  friend  and  neighbour  1  I  assure  you  she  will  take  no  governess 
but  of  your  choosing. 

"  My  dear  husband  is  pleased  to  say  that  he  likes  everything 
ivhich  comes  from  Miss  Pinkerton^s  school.  How  I  wish  I  could 
present  him  and  my  beloved  girls  to  the  friend  of  my  youth,  and  the 
admired  of  the  great  lexicographer  of  our  country !  If  you  ever 
travel  into  Hampshire,  Mr.  Crawley  begs  me  to  say,  he  hopes  you 
will  adorn  our  rural  rectory  with  your  presence.  'Tis  the  humble 
but  happy  home  of  your  affectionate  Martha  Crawley. 

^^  P.S. — Mr.  Crawley's  brother,  the  Baronet,  with  whom  we  are 
not,  alas !  upon  those  terms  of  unity  in  which  it  becomes  brethren 
to  dwell,  has  a  governess  for  his  little  girls,  who,  I  am  told,  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  educated  at  Chiswick.     I  hear  various  reports  of 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  89 

her ;  and  as  I  have  the  tenderest  interest  in  my  dearest  little  nieces, 
whom  I  wish,  in  spite  of  family  differences,  to  see  among  my  own 
children — and  as  I  long  to  be  attentive  to  any  pupil  of  yours — do, 
my  dear  Miss  Pinkerton,  tell  me  the  history  of  this  young  lady,  whom, 
for  your  sake,  I  am  most  anxious  to  befriend. — M.  C." 


"MISS   PINKERTON   TO   MRS.    BUTE   CRAWLEY. 

"Johnson  House,  Chiswick,  Dec.  18  — . 

"  Dear  Madam, — I  have  the  honour  to  acknowledge  your  polite 
communication,  to  which  I  promptly  reply.  'Tis  most  gratifying  to 
one  in  my  most  arduous  position  to  find  that  my  maternal  cares  have 
elicited  a  responsive  affection ;  and  to  recognise  in  the  amiable  Mrs. 
Bute  Crawley  my  excellent  pupil  of  former  years,  the  sprightly  and 
accomjdished  Miss  Martha  MacTavish.  I  am  happy  to  have  under 
my  charge  now  the  daughters  of  many  of  those  who  were  your  con- 
temporaries at  my  establishment — what  pleasure  it  would  give  me 
if  your  own  beloved  young  ladies  had  need  of  my  instructive  super- 
intendence ! 

"  Presenting  my  respectftd  compliments  to  Lady  Fuddleston,  I 
have  the  honour  (epistolarily)  to  introduce  to  her  ladyship  my  two 
friends,  Miss  Tufiin  and  Miss  Hawky. 

"  Either  of  these  young  ladies  is  perfectly  qualified  to  instruct 
in  Greek,  Latin,  and  the  rudiments  of  Hebrew ;  in  mathematics  and 
history ;  in  Spanish,  French,  Italian,  and  geography ;  in  music,  vocal 
and  instrumental ;  in  dancing,  without  the  aid  of  a  master ;  and  in 
the  elements  of  natiu-al  sciences.  In  the  use  of  the  globes  both  are 
proficients.  In  addition  to  these.  Miss  Tuffin,  who  is  daughter  of  the 
late  Reverend  Thomas  Tuffin  (Fellow  of  Corpus  College,  Cambridge), 
can  instruct  in  the  Syriac  language,  and  the  elements  of  Constitu- 
tional^ law.  But  as  she  is  only  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  of  exceed- 
ingly pleasing  personal  appearance,  perhaps  this  young  lady  may  be 
objectionable  in  Sir  Huddleston  Fuddleston's  family. 

"  Miss  Letitia  Hawky,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not  personally  well- 
favoured.  She  is  twenty-nine;  her  face  is  much  pitted  with  the 
small-pox.  She  has  a  halt  in  her  gait,  red  hair,  and  a  trifling  obli- 
quity of  vision.  Both  ladies  are  endowed  with  every  moral  and 
religious  virtue.  Their  terms,  of  course,  are  such  as  their  accom- 
plishments merit.  With  my  most  grateful  respects  to  the  Reverend 
Bute  Crawley,  I  have  the  honoiu-  to  be,  dear  Madam,  your  most 
faithftil  and  obedient  servant,  Barbara  Pinkerton. 

"P.aS'. — The  Miss  Sharp,  whom  you  mention  as  governess  to  Sir 
Pitt  Crawley,  Bart..  M.P.,  was  a  pupil  of  mine,  and  I  have  nothing 


<l 


90  VANITY    FAIR 

to  say  in  her  disfavour.  Though  her  appearance  is  disagreeable,  we 
cannot  control  the  operations  of  nature  :  and  though  her  parents  were 
disreputable  (her  father  being  a  painter,  several  times  bankrupt,  and 
her  mother,  as  I  have  since  learned,  with  horror,  a  dancer  at  the 
Opera) ;  yet  her  talents  are  considerable,  and  I  cannot  regret  that 
I  received  her  out  of  charity.  My  dread  is,  lest  the  principles  of  the 
mother — who  was  represented  to  me  as  a  French  Countess,  forced  to 
emigrate  in  the  late  revolutionary  horrors ;  but  who,  as  I  have  since 
found,  was  a  person  of  the  very  lowest  order  and  morals — should  at 
any  time  prove  to  be  hereditary  in  the  unhappy  young  woman  whom 
I  took  as  an  outcast.  But  her  principles  have  hitherto  been  correct 
(I  believe),  and  I  am  sure  nothing  will  occur  to  injure  them  in  the 
elegant  and  refined  circle  of  the  eminent  Sir  Pitt  Crawley." 


"MISS    KEBECCA    SHAKP   TO    MISS    AMELIA    SEDLEY. 

"  I  have  not  written  to  my  beloved  Amelia  for  these  many  weeks 
past,  for  what  news  was  there  to  tell  of  the  sayings  and  doings  at 
Humdrum  Hall,  as  I  have  christened  it;  and  what  do  you  care  whether 
the  turnip  crop  is  good  or  bad ;  whether  the  fat  pig  weighed  thirteen 
stone  or  fourteen ;  and  whether  the  beasts  thrive  well  upon  mangel- 
wurzel  1  Every  day  since  I  last  wrote  has  been  like  its  neighbour. 
Before  breakfast,  a  walk  with  Sir  Pitt  and  his  spud ;  after  breakfast, 
studies  (such  as  they  are)  in  the  schoolroom;  after  schoolroom, 
reading  and  writing  about  lawyers,  leases,  coal-mines,  canals,  with 
Sir  Pitt  (whose  secretary  I  am  become) ;  after  dinner,  Mr.  Crawley's 
discourses  or  the  Baronet's  backgammon;  during  both  of  which  amuse- 
ments my  lady  looks  on  with  equal  placidity.  She  has  become 
rather  more  interesting  by  being  ailing  of  late,  which  has  brought  a 
new  visitor  to  the  Hall,  in  the  person  of  a  young  doctor.  Well,  my 
dear,  young  women  need  never  despair.  The  young  doctor  gave  a 
certain  friend  of  yours  to  understand  that,  if  she  chose  to  be  Mrs. 
Glauber,  she  was  welcome  to  ornament  the  surgery  !  I  told  his  im- 
pudence that  the  gilt  pestle  and  mortar  was  quite  ornament  enough  ; 
as  if  I  was  bom,  indeed,  to  be  a  country  surgeon's  wife !  Mr. 
Glauber  went  home  seriously  indisposed  at  his  rebuff,  took  a  cooling 
draught,  and  is  now  quite  cured.  Sir  Pitt  applauded  my  resolution 
highly ;  he  would  be  sony  to  lose  his  little  secretary,  I  think ;  and 
I  believe  the  old  wretch  likes  me  as  much  as  it  is  in  his  nature 
to  like  any  one.     Marry,  indeed !  and  with  a  country  apothecary, 

after No,  no,  one  cannot  so  soon  forget  old  associations,  about 

which  I  will  talk  no  more.     Let  us  return  to  Humdrum  Hall. 

"  For  some  time  past  it  is  Humdrum  Hall  no  longer.     My  dear, 
Miss  Crawley  has  arrived  with  her  fat  horses,  fat  servants,  fat  spaniel 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  91 

— the  great  rich  Miss  Crawley,  with  seventy  thousand  pounds  in  the 
five  per  cents.,  whom,  or  I  had  better  say  which,  her  two  brothers 
adore.     She  looks  very  apoplectic,  the  dear  soul ;  no  wonder  her 
brothers  are  anxious  about  her.     Ycrti  should  see  them  struggling  tou. 
settle  her  cushions,  or  to  hand  her  coffee  !     '  When  I  come  into  the   | 
country,'  she  says  (for  she  has  a  great  deal  of  humour),  '  I  leave  my  j 
toady.  Miss  Briggs,  at  home.     My  brothers  are  my  toadies  here,  my  / 
dear,  and  a  pretty  pair  they  are  ! ' 

"  When  she  comes  into  the  country  our  hall  is  thrown  open,  and 
for  a  month,  at  least,  you  would  fancy  old  Sir  Walpole  was  come  to 
life  again.  We  have  dinner-parties,  and  drive  out  in  the  coach-and- 
four — the  footmen  put  on  their  newest  canary-coloured  liveries ;  we 
drink  claret  and  champagne  as  if  we  were  accustomed  to  it  every  day. 
We  have  wax  candles  in  the  schoolroom,  and  fires  to  warm  ourselves 
with.  Lady  Crawley  is  made  to  put  on  the  brightest  pea-green  in 
her  wardrobe,  and  my  pupils  leave  off  their  thick  shoes  and  tight  old 
tartan  pelisses,  and  wear  silk  stockings  and  muslin  frocks,  as  fashion- 
able baronets'  daughters  should.  Rose  came  in  yesterday  in  a  sad 
plight — the  Wiltshire  sow  (an  enormous  pet  of  hers)  ran  her  down, 
and  destroyed  a  most  lovely  flowered  lilac  silk  dress  by  dancing  over 
it — had  this  happened  a  week  ago,  Sir  Pitt  would  have  sworn  fright- 
fully, have  boxed  the  poor  wretch's  ears,  and  put  her  upon  bread  and 
water  for  a  month.  All  he  said  was,  '  I'll  serve  you  out,  Miss,  when 
your  aunt's  gone,'  and  laughed  off  the  accident  as  quite  trivial.  Let 
us  hope  his  wrath  will  have  passed  away  before  Miss  Crawley's 
departure.  I  hope  so,  for  Miss  Rose's  sake,  I  am  sure.  HfeatjL 
charming  reconciler  and  peace-maker  money  is  ! 

"Another  admirable  effect  of  Miss  Crawley  and  her  seventy 
thousand  pounds  is  to  be  seen  in  the  conduct  of  the  two  brothers 
Crawley.  I  mean  the  Baronet  and  the  Rector,  not  our  brothers — but 
their  father's,  who  hate  each  other  all  the  year  round,  become  quite 
loving  at  Christmas.  I  wrote  to  you  last  year  how  the  abominable  , 
horse-racing  Rector  was  in  the  habit  of  preaching  clumsy  sermons  Xy 
at  us  at  church,  and  how  Sir  Pitt  snored  in  answer.  When  Miss  A. 
Crawley  arrives  there  is  no  such  thing  as  quarrelling  heard  of — the 
Hall  visits  the  Rectory,  and  vice  versa — the  parson  and  the  baronet 
talk  about  the  pigs  and  the  poachers,  and  the  county  business,  in 
the  most  affable  manner,  and  without  quarrelling  in  their  cups,  I 
believe — indeed  Miss  Crawley  won't  hear  of  their  quarrelling,  and 
vows  that  she  will  leave  her  money  to  the  Shropshire  Crawleys  if 
they  offend  her.  If  they  were  clever  people,  those  Shropshire 
Crawleys,  they  might  have  it  all,  I  think;  but  the  Shropshire 
Crawley  is  a  clergyman  like  his  Hampshire  cousin,  and  mortally 
ofiended  Miss  Crawley  (who  had  fled  thither  in  a  fit  of  rage  against 


92  VANITY    FAIR 

her  impracticable  brethren)  by  some  strait-laced  notions  of  morality. 
He  would  have  prayers  in  the  house,  I  believe. 

"  Our  sermon  books  are  shut  up  when  Miss  Crawley  arrives,  and 
Mr.  Pitt,  whom  she  abominates,  finds  it  convenient  to  go  to  town. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  young  dandy — 'blood,'  I  believe,  is  the 
term — Captain  Crawley,  makes  his  appearance,  and  I  suppose  you 
will  like  to  know  what  sort  of  a  person  he  is. 

"  Well,  he  is  a  very  large  young  dandy.  He  is  six  feet  high, 
and  speaks  with  a  great  voice ;  dnd  swears  a  great  deal ;  and  orders 
about  the  servants,  who  all  adore  him  nevertheless ;  for  he  is  very 
generous  of  his  money,  and  the  domestics  will  do  anything  for  him. 
Last  week  the  keepers  almost  killed  a  bailiff  and  his  man  who  came 
down  from  London  to  arrest  the  Captain,  and  who  were  found  lurk- 
ing about  the  Park  wall — they  beat  them,  ducked  them,  and  were 
going  to  shoot  them  for  poachers,  but  the  Baronet  interfered. 

"  The  Captain  has  a  hearty  contempt  for  his  father,  I  can  see, 
and  calls  him  an  old  put^  an  old  &nob^  an  old  chawbacon,  and 
numberless  other  pretty  names.  He  has  a  dreadful  reputation 
among  the  ladies.  He  brings  his  hunters  home  with  him,  lives  with 
the  squires  of  the  county,  asks  whom  he  pleases  to  dinner,  and 
Sir  Pitt  dares  not  say  no,  for  fear  of  offending  Miss  Crawley,  and 
missing  his  legacy  when  she  dies  of  her  apoplexy.  Shall  I  tell  you 
a  compliment  the  Captain  paid  me  ?  I  must,  it  is  so  pretty.  One 
evening  we  actually  had  a  dance;  there  was  Sir  Huddleston 
Fuddleston  and  his  family.  Sir  Giles  Wapshot  and  his  young  ladies, 
and  I  don't  know  how  many  more.  Well,  I  heard  him  say — '  By 
Jove,  she's  a  neat  little  filly  ! '  meaning  your  humble  servant ;  and 
he  did  me  the  honoiu-  to  dance  two  country-dances  with  me.  He 
gets  on  pretty  gaily  with  the  young  squires,  with  whom  he  drinks, 
bets,  rides,  and  talks  about  hunting  and  shooting ;  but  he  says  the 
country  girls  are  bores  ;  indeed,  I  don't  think  he  is  far  wrong.  You 
should  see  the  contempt  with  which  they  look  down  on  poor  me ! 
When  they  dance  I  sit  and  play  the  piano  very  demurely ;  but  the 
other  night,  coming  in  rather  flushed  from  the  dining-room,  and 
seeing  me  employed  in  this  way,  he  swore  out  loud  that  I  was  the 
best  dancer  in  the  room,  and  took  a  great  oath  that  he  would  have 
V  the  fiddlers  fi-om  Mudbury. 
\^  '  r  "  '  I'll  go  and  play  a  country-dance,'  said  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley,  very 
^  I  readily  (she  is  a  little,  black-faced  old  woman  in  a  turban,  rather 

^;rooked,  and  with  very  twinkling  eyes) ;  and  after  the  Captain  and 
your  poor  little  Rebecca  had  performed  a  dance  together,  do  you 
know  she  actually  did  me  the  honour  to  compliment  me  upon  my 
steps !  Such  a  thing  was  never  heard  of  before ;  the  proud  Mrs. 
Bute  Crawley,  first  cousin  to  the  Earl  of  Tiptoff,  who  won't  con 


MISS   CRAWLEY'S   AFFECTIONATE   RELATIYES. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  93 

descend  to  visit  Lady  Crawley,  except  when  her  sister  is  in  the 
country.  Poor  Lady  Crawley  !  during  most  part  of  these  gaieties, 
she  is  upstairs  taking  pills. 

"Mrs.  Bute  has  all  of  a  sudden  taken  a  great  fancy  to  me. 
*  My  dear  Miss  Sharp,'  she  says,  '  why  not  bring  over  your  girls  to 
the  Rectory  I— their  cousins  will  be  so  happy  to  see  them.'  I  know 
what  she  means.  Signor  Clementi  did  not  teach  us  the  piano  for  \, 
nothing ;  at  which  price  Mrs.  Bute  hopes  to  get  a  professor  for  her 
children.  I  can  see  through  her  schemes,  as  though  she  told  them 
to  me ;  but  I  shall  go,  as  I  am  determined  to  make  myself  agreeable 
— is  it  not  a  poor  governess's  duty,  who  has  not  a  friend  or  protector 
in  the  world  1  The  Rector's  wife  paid  me  a  score  of  compliments 
about  the  progress  my  pupils  made,  and  thought,  no  doubt,  to 
touch  my  heart — poor,  simple,  country  soul ! — as  if  I  cared  a  fig 
about  my  pupils  ! 

"Your  India  muslin  and  your  pink  silk,  dearest  Amelia,  are 
said  to  become  me  very  well.  They  are  a  good  deal  worn  now ; 
but,  you  know,  we  poor  girls  can't  afford  des  fraiches  toilettes. 
Happy,  happy  you !  who  have  but  to  drive  to  St.  James's  Street, 
and  a  dear  mother  who  will  give  you  anything  you  ask.  Farewell, 
dearest  girl. — Your  affectionate  Rebecca. 

"P.iS'. — I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  faces  of  the  Miss  Black- 
brooks  (Admiral  Blackbrook's  daughters,  my  dear),  fine  young  ladies, 
with  dresses  from  London,  when  Captain  Rawdon  selected  poor  me 
or  a  partner  ! " 

When  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  (whose  artifices  our  ingenious  Rebecca 
had  so  soon  discovered)  had  procured  from  Miss  Sharp  the  promise 
of  a  visit,  she  induced  the  all-powerful  Miss  Cmwley  to  make  the 
necessary  application  to  Sir  Pitt,  and  the  good-natured  old  lady, 
who  loved  to  be  gay  herself,  and  to  see  every  one  gay  and  happy 
round  about  her,  was  quite  charmed,  and  ready  to  establish  a  recon- 
ciliation and  intimacy  between  her  two  brothers.  It  was  therefore 
agreed  that  the  young  people  of  both  families  should  visit  each  othei- 
frequently  for  the  future,  and  the  friendship  of  course  lasted  as  long 
as  the  jovial  old  mediatrix  was  there  to  keep  the  peace. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  that  scoundrel,  Rawdon  Crawley,  to  dine  ? " 
said  the  Rector  to  his  lady,  as  they  were  walking  home  through  the 
park.  "  /  don't  want  the  fellow.  He  looks  down  upon  us  coimtry 
people  as  so  many  blackamoors.  He's  never  content  unless  he  gets 
my  yellow-sealed  wine,  which  costs  me  ten  shillings  a  bottle,  hang 
him  !  Besides,  he's  such  an  infernal  character — he's  a  gambler — 
he's  a  drunkard— he's  a  profligate  in  every  way.     He  shot  a  man  in 


94  VANITY    I^AIR 

a  duel — he's  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  and  he's  robbed  me  and 
mine  of  the  best  part  of  Miss  Crawley's  fortune.  Waxy  says  she 
has  him  " — here  the  Rector  shook  his  fist  at  the  moon,  with  some- 
thing very  like  an  oath,  and  added,  in  a  melancholious  tone — 

" ,  down  in  her  will  for  fifty  thousand;  and  there  won't  be 

above  thirty  to  divide," 

"  I  think  she's  going,"  said  the  Rector's  wife.  "  She  was  very 
red  in  the  face  when  we  left  dinner.     I  was  obliged  to  unlace  her." 

"She  drank  seven  glasses  of  champagne,"  said  the  reverend 
gentleman,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  and  filthy  champagne  it  is,  too,  that  my 
brother  poisons  us  with — but  you  women  never  know  what's  what." 
— -^  "  We  know  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley. 

"  She  drank  cherry-brandy  after  dinner,"  continued  his  Reverence, 
"  and  took  cura^oa  with  her  coffee.  /  wouldn't  take  a  glass  for  a 
five-pound  note :  it  kills  me  with  heartburn.  She  can't  stand  it, 
Mrs.  Crawley — she  must  go — flesh  and  blood  won't  bear  it !  and  I 
lay  five  to  two,  Matilda  drops  in  a  year." 

Indulging  in  these  solemn  speculations,  and  thinking  about  his 
debts,  and  his  son  Jim  at  college,  and  Frank  at  Woolwich,  and  the 
four  girls,  who  were  no  beauties,  poor  things,  and  would  not  have  a 
penny  but  what  they  got  fi-om  the  aunt's  expected  legacy,  the  Rector 
and  his  lady  wialked  on  for  a  while. 

"  Pitt  can't  be  such  an  infernal  villain  as  to  sell  the  reversion  of 
the  living.  And  that  Methodist  milksop  of  an  eldest  son  looks  to 
Parhament,"  continued  Mr.  Crawley,  after  a  pause. 

"  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  will  do  anything,"  said  the  Rector's  wife. 
"  We  must  get  Miss  Crawley  to  make  him  promise  it  to  James." 

"Pitt  will  promise  anything,"  replied  the  brother.  "He  pro- 
mised he'd  pay  my  college  bills,  when  my  father  died ;  he  promised 
he'd  build  the  new  wing  to  the  Rectory ;  he  promised  he'd  let  me 
have  Jibb's  field  and  the  Six-acre  Meadow — and  much  he  executed 
his  promises  !  And  it's  to  this  man's  son — this  scoxmdrel,  gambler, 
swindler,  murderer  of  a  Rawdon  Crawley,  that  Matilda  leaves  the 
bulk  of  her  money.  I  say  it's  unchristian.  By  Jove,  it  is.  The 
infamous  dog  has  got  every  vice  except  hypocrisy,  and  that  belongs 
to  his  brother." 

"  Hush,  my  dearest  love  !  we're  in  Sir  Pitt's  grounds,"  interposed 
his  wife. 

"  I  say  he  has  got  every  vice,  Mrs.  Crawley.  Don't,  Ma'am, 
bully  me.  Didn't  he  shoot  Captain  Marker  1  Didn't  he  rob  young 
Lord  Dovedale  at  the  Cocoa-Tree"?  Didn't  he  cross  the  fight  be- 
tween Bill  Soames  and  the  Cheshire  Trump,  by  which  I  lost  forty 
pound  ?  You  know  he  did ;  and  as  for  the  women,  why,  you  heard 
that  before  me,  in  my  own  magistrate's  room " 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  95 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Crawley,"  said  the  lady,  "  spare  me 
the  details." 

"  And  you  ask  this  villain  into  your  house  ! "  continued  the  ex- 
asperated Rector,  "  You,  the  mo^er  of  a  young  family — the  wife 
of  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England.     By  Jove  !  " 

"  Bute  Crawley,  you  are  a  fool,"  said  the  Rector's  wife  scom- 
fuUy. 

"  Well,  Ma'am,  fool  or  not — and  I  don't  say,  Martha,  I'm  so 
clever  as  you  are,  I  never  did.  But  I  won't  meet  Rawdon  Crawley, 
that's  flat.  I'll  go  over  to  Huddleston,  that  I  will,  and  see  his 
black  greyhound,  Mrs.  Crawley ;  and  I'll  run  Lancelot  against  him 
for  fifty.  By  Jove,  I  will ;  or  against  any  dog  in  England.  But 
I  won't  meet  that  beast  Rawdon  Crawley." 

"Mr.  Crawley,  you  are  intoxicated,  as  usual,"  repHed  his 
wife.  And  the  next  morning,  when  the  Rector  woke,  and  called 
for  small  beer,  she  put  him  in  mind  of  his  promise  to  visit  Sir 
Huddleston  Fuddleston  on  Saturday,  and  as  he  knew  he  should 
have  a  wet  night,  it  was  agreed  that  he  might  gallop  back  again 
in  time  for  church  on  Sunday  morning.  Thus  it  will  be  seen 
that  the  parishioners  of  Crawley  were  equally  happy  in  their 
Squire  and  in  their  Rector.  ^ 

Miss  Crawley  had  not  long  been  established  at  the  Hall  before 
Rebecca's  fascinations  had  won  the  heart  of  that  good-natured 
London  rake,  as  they  had  of  the  country  innocents  whom  we  have 
been  describing.  Taking  her  accustomed  drive,  one  day,  she  thought; 
fit  to  order  that  "  that  little  governess  "  should  accompany  her  td 
Mudbury.  Before  they  had  returned  Rebecca  had  made  a  conquest,' 
of  her ;  having  made  her  laugh  four  times,  and  amused  her  during 
the  whole  of  the  little  journey. 

"  Not  let  Miss  Sharp  dine  at  table  ! "  said  she  to  Sir  Pitt,  who 
had  arranged  a  dinner  of  ceremony,  and  asked  all  the  neighbouring 
baronets.  "My  dear  creature,  do  you  suppose  I  can  talk  about 
the  nursery  with  Lady  Fuddleston,  or  discuss  justices'  business  with 
that  goose,  old  Sir  Giles  Wapshot  ?  I  insist  upon  Miss  Sharp 
appearing.  Let  Lady  Crawley  remain  upstairs,  if  there  is  no  room. 
But  little  Miss  Sharp  !  Why,  she's  the  only  person  fit  to  talk  to 
in  the  county  !  " 

Of  course,  after  such  a  peremptory  order  as  this,  Miss  Sharp, 
the  governess,  received  commands  to  dine  with  the  illustrious  com- 
pany below  stairs.  And  when  Sir  Huddleston  had,  with  great 
pomp  and  ceremony,  handed  Miss  Crawley  in  to  dinner,  and  was 
preparing  to  take  his  place  by  her  side,  the  old  lady  cried  out,  in 
a  shrill  voice,  "  Becky  Sharp !  Miss  Sharp !     Come  you  and  sit 


■^ 


96  VANITY    FAIR 

by  me  and  amuse  me;  and  let  Sir  Huddleston  sit  by  Lady 
Wapshot." 

When  the  parties  were  over,  and  the  carriages  had  rolled  away, 
the  insatiable  Miss  Crawley  would  say,  "  Come  to  my  dressing-room, 
Becky,  and  let  us  abuse  the  company," — which,  between  them, 
this  pair  of  friends  did  perfectly.  Old  Sir  Huddleston  wheezed  a 
great  deal  at  dinner ;  Sir  Giles  Wapshot  had  a  particularly  noisy 
manner  of  imbibing  his  soup,  and  her  ladyship  a  wink  of  the  left 
eye ;  all  of  which  Becky  caricatured  to  admiration ;  as  well  as  the 
particulars  of  the  night's  conversation ;  the  politics ;  the  war ;  the 
quarter-sessions ;  the  famous  run  with  the  H.H.,  and  those  heavy 
and  dreary  themes,  about  which  country  gentlemen  converse.  As 
for  the  Misses  Wapshot's  toilettes  and  Lady  Fuddleston's  famous 
yeUaw  hat.  Miss  Sharp  tore  them  to  tatters,  to  the  infinite  amuse- 
ment of  her  audience. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  a  perfect  trouvaille,''^  Miss  Crawley  would  say. 
"  I  wish  you  could  come  to  me  in  London,  but  I  couldn't  make  a 
butt  of  you  as  I  do  of  poor  Briggs — no,  no,  you  little  sly  creature ; 
you  are  too  clever — Isn't  she.  Firkin  1 " 

Mrs.  Firkin  (who  was  dressing  the  very  small  remnant  of  hair 
which  remained  on  Miss  Crawley's  pate)  flung  up  her  head  and 
said,  "  I  think  Miss  is  very  clever,"  with  the  most  killing  sarcastic 
air.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Firkin  had  that  natural  jealousy  which  is  one  of 
the  main  principles  of  every  \ionest  woman. 

After  rebuffing  Sir  Huddleston  Fuddleston,  Miss  Crawley  ordered 
that  Rawdon  Crawley  should  lead  her  in  to  dinner  every  day,  and 
that  Becky  should  follow  with  her  cushion — or  else  she  would  have 
Becky's  arm  and  Rawdon  with  the  pillow.  "  We  must  sit  together," 
she  said.  "We're  the  only  three  Christians  in  the  county,  my 
love  " — in  which  case,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  religion  was  at  a 
very  low  ebb  in  the  county  of  Hants. 

Besides  being  such  a  fine  religionist.  Miss  Crawley  was,  as  we 
have  said,  an  Ultra-liberal  in  opinions,  and  always  took  occasion  to 
express  these  in  the  most  candid  manner. 

"  What  is  birth,  my  dear  1 "  she  would  say  to  Rebecca — "  Look 
;it  my  brother  Pitt ;  look  at  the  Huddlestons,  who  have  been  here 
since  Henry  II. ;  look  at  poor  Bute  at  the  parsonage ; — is  any  one 
of  them  equal  to  you  in  intelligence  or  breeding  1  Equal  to  you — 
they  are  not  even  equal  to  poor  dear  Briggs,  my  companion,  or 
Bo.vls,  my  butler.  You,  my  love,  are  a  little  paragon — positively 
a  little  jewel — You  have  more  brains  than  half  the  shire — if  merit 
had  its  reward  you  ought  to  be  a  duchess — no,  there  ought  to  be 
no  duchesses  at  all — but  you  ought  to  have  no  superior,  and  I  consider 
you,  my  love,  as  my  equal  in  every  respect ;  and — will  you  put  some 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  97 

coals  on  the  fire,  my  dear ;  and  will  you  pick  this  dress  of  mine,  and 
alter  it,  you  who  can  do  it  so  welll"  So  this  old  philanthropist 
used  to  make  her  equal  run  of  her  errands,  execute  her  millinery, 
and  read  her  to  sleep  with  French /novels,  every  night. 

At  this  time,  as  some  old  readers  may  recollect,  the  genteel 
world  had  been  thrown  mto  a  considerable  state  of  excitement  by 
two  events,  which,  as  the  papers  say,  might  give  employment  to 
the  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe.  Ensign  Shafton  had  run  away  with 
Lady  Barbara  Fitzurse,  the  Earl  of  Bruin's  daughter  and  heiress ; 
and  poor  Vere  Vane,  a  gentleman  who,  up  to  forty,  had  maintained 
a  most  respectable  character  and  reared  a  numerous  family,  suddenly 
and  outrageously  left  his  home,  for  the  sake  of  Mrs.  Rougemont, 
the  actress,  who  was  sixty-five  years  of  age. 

"  That  was  the  most  beautiful  part  of  dear  Lord  Nelson's  char- 
acter," Miss  Crawley  said.  "  He  went  to  the  deuce  for  a  woman. 
There  must  be  good  in  a  man  who  will  do  that.  I  adore  all  im- 
prudent matches. — What  I  like  best,  is  for  a  nobleman  to  marry  a 
miller's  daughter,  as  Lord  Flowerdale  did — it  makes  all  the  women 
so  angry — I  wish  some  great  man  would  run  away  with  you,  my 
dear;  I'm  sure  you're  pretty  enough." 

"  Two  post-boys  !-  -Oh,  it  would  be  delightful !  "  Rebecca  owned. 

"  And  what  I  like  next  best,  is,  for  a  poor  fellow  to  run  away 
with  a  rich  girl.  I  have  set  my  heart  on  Rawdon  running  away 
with  some  one." 

"  A  rich  some  one,  or  a  poor  some  one  % " 

"  Why,  you  goose  !  Rawdon  has  not  a  shilling  but  what  I  give 
him.  He  is  crihle  de  dettes — he  must  repair  his  fortunes,  end 
succeed  in  the  world."  "^ 

"  Is  he  very  clever  ? "  Rebecca  asked. 

"  Clever,  my  love  ? — not  an  idea  in  the  world  beyond  his  horses, 
and  his  regiment,  and  his  hunting,  and  his  play ;  but  he  must 
surxjeed — he's  so  delightfully  wicked.  Don't  you  know  he  has  hit 
a  man,  and  shot  an  injiu-ed  father  through  the  hat  only?  He's 
adored  in  his  regiment ;  and  all  the  young  men  at  Wattier's  and 
the  Cocoa-Tree  swear  by  him." 

When  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  wrote  to  her  beloved  friend  the  account 
of  the  little  ball  at  Queen's  Crawley,  and  the  manner  in  which,  for 
the  first  time.  Captain  Crawley  had  distinguished  her,  she  did  not, 
strange  to  relate,  give  an  altogether  accurate  account  of  the  trans- 
action. The  Captain  had  distinguished  her  a  great  number  of  times 
before.  The  Captain  had  met  her  in  a  half-score  of  walks.  The 
Captain  had  lighted  upon  her  in  a  half-hundred  of  corridors  and 
pas«ages.  The  Captain  had  hung  over  lier  piano  twenty  times  of 
an  evening  (my  Lady  was  now  upstairs^  being  ill,  and  nobody  heeded 
10 


9^  VANITY    FAIR 

her)  as  Miss  Sharp  sang.  The  Captain  had  written  her  notes  (the 
best  that  the  great  blundering  dragoon  could  devise  and  spell ;  but 
dulness  gets  on  as  well  as  any  other  quality  with  women).  But 
when  he  put  the  first  of  the  notes  into  the  leaves  of  the  song  she  was 
singing,  the  little  governess,  rising  and  looking  him  steadily  in  the 
face,  took  up  the  triangular  missive  daintily,  and  waved  it  about  as 
if  it  were  a  cocked  hat,  and  she  advancing  to  the  enemy,  popped 
the  note  into  the  fire,  and  made  him  a  very  low  curtsey,  and  went 
back  to  her  place,  and  began  to  sing  away  again  more  merrily 
than  ever. 

"What's  that?"  said  Miss  Crawley,  interrupted  in  her  after; 
dinner  doze  by  the  stoppage  of  the  music.  ^ 

"  It's  a  false  note,"  Miss  Sharp  said  with  a  laugh ;  and  Rawdon  / 
Crawley  fumed  with  rage  and  mortification.  ( 

Seeing  the  evident  partiality  of  Miss  Crawley  for  the  new  gover-  ^ 
\  ness,  how  good  it  was  of  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  not  to  be  jealous^nd 
to  welcome  the  young  lady  to  the  Rectory,  and  not  only  her,  but 
Rawdon  Crawley,  her  husband's  rival  in  the  Old  Maid's  five  per  cents.  ! 
They  became  very  fond  of  each  other's  society,  Mrs.  Crawley  and  her 
nephew.  He  gave  up  hunting ;  he  declined  entertainments  at  Fuddle- 
ston  :  he  would  not  dine  with  the  mess  of  the  depot  at  Mudbury  :  his 
great  pleasure  was  to  stroll  over  to  Crawley  parsonage — whither  Miss 
Crawley  came  too ;  and  as  their  mamma  was  ill,  why  not  the  children 
with  Miss  Sharp  ?  So  the  children  (little  dears !)  came  with  Miss 
Sharp ;  and  of  an  evening  some  of  the  party  would  walk  back  to- 
gether. Not  Miss  Crawley — she  preferred  her  carriage — but  the 
walk  over  the  Rectory  fields,  and  in  at  the  little  park  wicket,  and 
through  the  dark  plantation,  and  up  the  chequered  avenue  to  Queen's 
Crawley,  was  charming  in  the  moonlight  to  two  such  lovers  of  the 
picturesque  as  the  Captain  and  Miss  Rebecca. 

"  Oh  those  stars,  those  stars  ! "  Miss  Rebecca  would  say,  turning 
her  twinkling  green  eyes  up  towards  them.  "  I  feel  myself  almost  a 
spirit  when  I  gaze  upon  them." 

"  Oh — ah — Gad — yes,  so  do  I  exactly.  Miss  Sharp,"  the  other 

enthusiast  replied.    "  You  don't  mind  my  cigar^  do  you.  Miss  Sharp  1 " 

i      Miss  Sharp  loved  the  smelLof  a  cigar  ouT  of  doors  beyond  everything 

\.      \     in  the  world — and  she  just  tasted  one  too,  in  the  prettiest  way 

^^*»i^i)ossible,   and  gave  a  little  puff",   and  a  little  scream,  and  a  little 

j     giggle,  and  restored  the  delicacy  to  the  Captain,  who  twirled  his 

J     moustache,  and   straightway  puffed  it  into  a  blaze   that  glowed 

quite  red  in  the  dark  plantation,  and  swore — "  Jove — aw — Gad — 

aw — it's  the  finest  segaw  I  ever  smoked  in  the  world  aw,"  for 

his  intellect  and  conversation  were  alike  brilliant  and  becoming  to 

a  heavy  young  dragoon. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  99 

Old  Sir  Pitt,  who  wa^  taking  his  pipe  and  beer,  and  talking  to 
John  Horrocks  about  a  "  ship  "  that  was  to  be  killed,  espied  the  pair 
so  occupied  from  his  study-window,  and  with  dreadful  oaths  swore 
that  if  it  wasn't  for  Miss  Crawley,  he'd  take  Rawdon  and  bundle  un 
out  of  doors,  like  a  rogue  as  he  was. 

"  He  be  a  bad'n,  sure  enough,"  Mr.  Horrocks  remarked  ;  "  and 
his  man  Flethers  is  wuss,  and  have  made  such  a  row  in  the  house- 
keeper's room  about  the  dinners  and  hale,  as  no  lord  would  make 
— but  I  think  Miss  Sharp's  a  match  for'n,  Sir  Pitt,"  he  added,  after 
a  pause. 

And  so,  in  truth,  she  was — for  father  and  son  too. 


CHAPTER  XII 

QUITE  A  SENTIMENTAL  CHAPTER 

WE  must  now  take  leave  of  Arcadia,  and  those  amiable  people 
practising  the  rural  virtues  there,  and  travel  back  to 
London,  to  inquire  what  has  become  of  Miss  Amelia. 
"We  don't  care  a  fig  for  her,"  writes  some  unknown  corresijondent 
with  a  pretty  little  handwriting  and  a  pink  seal  to  her  note.  "  She 
hfade  and  insipid,"  and  adds  some  more  kind  remarks  in  this  strain, 
which  I  should  never  have  repeated  at  all,  but  that  they  are  in  truth 
prodigioutily  complime-  ttary  to  the  young  lady  whom  they  concern. 

Has  the  beloved  reader,  in  his  experience  of  society,  never  heard 
similar  remarks  by  good-natured  female  friends  ;  who  always  wonder 
what  you  ca7i  see  in  Miss  Smith  that  is  so  fascinating ;  or  what  could 
induce  Major  Jones  to  propose  for  that  silly  insignificant  simpering 
Miss  Thompson,  who  has  nothing  but  her(wax-doll  face  to  recommend 
her  1  What  is  there  in  a  pair  of  pink  cheeksand  blue  eyes  forsooth  ? 
these  dear  Moralists  ask,  and  hint  wisely  that  the  gifts  of  genius,  tlie 
accomj^lishments  of  the  mind,  the  mastery  of  Mangnall's  Questions, 
and  a  ladylike  knowledge  of  botany  and  geology,  the  knack  of  making 
poetry,  the  power  of  rattling  sonatas  in  the  Herz-manner,  and  so 
forth,  are  far  more  valuable  endowments  for  a  female,  than  those 
fugitive  charms  which  a  few  years  will  inevitably  tarnish.  It  is 
quite  edifying  to  hear  women  speculate  upon  the  worthlessness  and 
the  duration  of  beauty. 

But  though  virtue  is  a  much  finer  thing,  and  those  hapless 
creatures  who  suffer  under  the  misfortune  of  good  looks  ought  to  be 
continually  put  in  mind  of  the  fate  which  awaits  them  ;  and  though, 
very  likely,  the  heroic  female  character  which  ladies  admire  is  a  more 
glorious  and  beautiful  object  than  the  kind,  fresh,  smiling,  artless, 
tender  little  domestic  goddess,  whom  men  are  inclined  to  worship — 
yet  the  latter  and  inferior  sort  of  women  must  have  this  consolation 
— that  the  men  do  admire  them  after  all ;  and  that,  in  spite  of  all 
our  kind  fi^iends'  warnings  and  protests,  we  go  on  in  our  desperate 
error  and  folly,  and  shall  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Indeed,  for  my 
own  part,  tliough  I  have  been  repeatedly  told  by  persons  for  whom 
i  have  the  greatest  respect,  tliat  Miss  Brown  is  an  insignificant  chit, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  lox 

and  Mrs.  V/liite  has  nothing  but  her  jietit  minois  chiffonne,  and 
Mrs.  Black  has  not  a  word  to  say  for  herself;  yet  I  know  that  I 
have  had  the  most  delightftil  conversations  with  Mrs.  Black  (of 
course,  my  dear  Madam,  they  are  inviolable) :  I  see  all  the  men  in  a 
cluster  round  Mrs.  White's  chair :  all  the  young  fellows  battling  to 
dance  with  Miss  Brown  ;  and  so  I  am  tempted  to  think Jiat-ta-fee^ 
despised  by  her  sex  is  a  very  great  compliment  to  a  woi 

"'  The  young  ladies  in  Amelia's  society  did  this  for  her  very  satis- 
factorily. For  instance,  there  was  scarcely  any  point  upon  which 
the  Misses  Osborne,  George's  sisters,  and  the  Mesdemoiselles  Dobbin 
agreed  so  well  as  in  their  estimate  of  her  very  trifling  merits :  and 
their  wonder  that  their  brothers  could  find  any  charms  in  her.  "  We 
are  kind  to  her,"  the  Misses  Osboxue  said,  a  pair  of  fine  black-browed 
yoimg  ladies  who  had  had  the  best  of  governesses,  masters,  and 
milliners ;  and  they  treated  her  with  such  extreme  kindness  and 
^-  condescension,  and  patronised  h^r  so  insufferably,  that  the  poor  little 

-^thtnglms  in  fact  perfectly  dumb  in  their  presence,  and  to  all  outward 
appearance  as  stupid  as  they  thought  her.  She  made  efforts  to  like 
them,  as  in  duty  bound,  and  as  sisters  of  her  future  husband.  She ; 
I)assed  "  long  mornings  "  with  them — the  most  dreary  and  serious  of  \ 
forenoons.  She  drove  out  solemnly  in  their  great  family  coach  with 
them,  and  Miss  Wirt  their  governess,  that  raw-boned  vestal.  They 
took  her  to  the  ancient  concerts  by  way  of  a  treat,  and  to  the  oratorio, 
and  to  St.  Paul's  to  see  the  charity  children,  where  in  such  terror 
was  she  of  her  friends,  she  almost  did  not  dare  be  affected  by  the 
hymn  the  children  sang.  Their  house  was  comfortable ;  their  papa's 
table  rich  and  handsome ;  their  society  solemn  and  genteel ;  their 
self-respect  prodigious ;  they  had  the  best  pew  at  the  Foundling :  all 
their  habits  were  pompous  and  orderly,  and  all  their  amusements 
intolerably  dull  and  decorous.  After  every  one  of  her  visits  (and  oh 
how  glad  she  was  when  they  were  over!)  Miss  Osborne  and  Miss 
Maria  Osborne,  and  Miss  Wirt,  the  vestal  governess,  asked  each 
other  wijth  increased  wonder,  "What  could  George  find  in  that 
creature  1 " 

How  is  this?  some  carping  reader  exclaims.  How  is  it  that 
Amelia,  who  had  such  a  number  of  friends  at  school,  and  was  so  be- 
loved there,  comes  out  into  the  world  and  is  spumed  by  her  discrimi- 
nating sexl  My  dear  sir,  there  were  no  men  at  Miss  Pinkerton's 
establishment  except  the  old  dancing-master;  and  you  would  not 
have  had  the  girls  fall  out  about  him  ?  When  George,  their  hand- 
some brother,  ran  oft'  directly  after  breakfast,  and  dined  from  home 
half-a-dozen  times  a-week,  no  wonder  the  neglected  sisters  felt 
a  little  vexation.  When  young  Bullock  (of  the  firm  of  Hulker, 
Bullock  &  Co.,  Bankers,  Lombard  Street),  who  had  been  making  up 


I02  VANITY    FAIR 

to  Miss  Maria  the  last  two  seasons,  actually  asked  Amelia  to  dance 
the  cotillon,  could  you  expect  that  the  former  young  lady  should  be 
pleased  ?  And  yet  she  said  she  was,  like  an  artless  forgiving  creature. 
"  I'm  so  delighted  you  like  dear  Amelia,"  she  said  quite  eagerly  to 
Mr.  Bullock  after  the  dance.  "  She's  engaged  to  my  brother  George ; 
there's  not  much  in  her,  but  she's  the  best-natured  and  most  un- 
affected young  creature :  at  home  we're  all  so  fond  of  her."  Dear 
girl !  who  can  calculate  the  depth  of  affection  expressed  in  that 
enthusiastic  so  ? 
p  Miss  Wirt  and  these  two  affectionate  young  women  so  earnestly 
and  frequently  impressed  upon  George  Osborne's  mind  the  enormity 
of  the  sacrifice  he  was  making,  and  his  romantic  generosity  in  throw- 
ing himself  away  upon  Amelia,  that  I'm  not  sure  but  that  he  really 
thought  he  was  one  of  the  most  deserving  characters  in  the  British 
/  army,  and  gave  himself  up  to  be  loved  with  a  good  deal  of  easy 
U  resignation. 

Somehow,  although  he  left  home  every  morning,  as  was  stated, 
and  dined  abroad  six  days  in  the  week,  when  his  sisters  believed  the 
infatuated  youth  to  be  at  Miss  Sedley's  apron-strings :  he  was  not 
always  with  Amelia,  whilst  the  world  supposed  him  at  her  feet. 
Certain  it  is  that  on  more  occasions  than  one,  when  Captain  Dobbin 
called  to  look  for  his  friend.  Miss  Osborne  (who  was  very  attentive 
to  the  Captain,  and  anxious  to  hear  his  military  stories,  and  to  know 
about  the  health  of  his  dear  Mamma)  would  laughingly  point  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  square,  and  say,  "  Oh,  you  must  go  to  the 
Sedleys  to  ask  for  George ;  we  never  see  him  from  morning  till  night." 
At  which  kind  of  speech  the  Captain  would  laugh  in  rather  an  absurd 
constrained  manner,  and  turn  off  the  conversation,  like  a  consummate 
man  of  the  world,  to  some  topic  of  general  interest,  such  as  the 
Opera,  the  Prince's  last  ball  at  Carlton  House,  or  the  weather— that 
blessing  tQ^sQciety. 

"  What  an  innocent  it  is,  that  pet  of  yours,"  Miss  Maria  would 
then  say  to  Miss  Jane,  upon  the  Captain's  departure.  "Did  you 
see  how  he  blushed  at  the  mention  of  poor  George  on  duty  ? " 

"It's  a  pity  Frederick  Bullock  hadn't  some  of  his  modesty, 
Maria,"  replies  the  elder  sister,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Modesty !  Awkwardness  you  mean,  Jane.  I  don't  want 
Frederick  to  trample  a  hole  in  my  muslin  frock,  as  Captain  Dobbin 
did  in  yours  at  Mrs.  Perkins'." 

"  In  your  frock,  he,  he  !  How  could  he  1  Wasn't  he  dancing 
with  Amelia?" 

The  fact  is,  when  Captain  Dobbin  blushed  so,  and  looked  so 
awkward,  he  remembered  a  circumstance  of  which  he  did  not  think 
it  was  necessary  to  inform  the  young  ladies,  viz.,  that  he  had  been 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  103 

calling  at  Mr.  Sedley's  liouse  already,  on  the  pretence  of  seeing 
George,  of  course,  and  George  wasn't  there,  only  poor  little  Amelia, 
with  rather  a  sad  wistful  face,  seated  near  the  drawing-room  window, 
who,  after  some  very  trifling  stupid  talk,  ventured  to  ask,  was  there 
any  truth  in  the  report  that  the  regiment  was  soon  to  be  ordered 
abroad ;  and  had  Captain  Dobbin  seen  Mr.  Osborne  that  day  ? 

The  regiment  was  not  ordered  abroad  as  yet;  and  Captain 
Dobbin  had  not  seen  George.  "He  was  with  his  sister,  most 
likely,"  the  Captain  said.  "Should  he  go  and  fetch  the  truant  1" 
So  she  gave  him  her  hand  kindly  and  gratefully :  and  he  crossed 
the  square ;  and  she  waited  and  waited,  but  George  never  came. 

Poor  little  tender  heart !  and  so  it  goes  on  hoping  and  beating, 
and  longing  and  trusting.  You  see  it  is  not  much  of  a  life  to  de- 
scribe. There  is  not  much  of  what  you  call  incident  in  it.  Only'A 
one  feeling  all  day — when  will  he  come  ?  only  one  thought  to  sleep  1 
and  wake  upon.  I  believe  George  was  playing  billiards  with 
Captain  Cannon  in  Swallow  Street  at  the  time  when  Amelia  was 
asking  Captain  Dobbin  about  him ;  for  George  was  a  jolly  sociable 
fellow,  and  excellent  in  all  games  of  skill. 

Once,  after  three  days  of  absence,  Miss  Amelia  put  on  her 
bonnet,  and  actually  invaded  the  Osborne  house.  "  What !  leave 
our  brother  to  come  to  us  1 "  said  the  young  ladies.  "  Have  you 
had  a  quarrel,  Amelia  ?  Do  tell  us  !  "  No,  indeed,  there  had  been 
no  quarrel.  "  Who  could  quarrel  with  him  ? "  says  she,  with  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  only  came  over  to — to  see  her  dear 
friends ;  they  had  not  met  for  so  long.  And  this  day  she  was  so 
perfectly  stupid  and  awkward,  that  the  Misses  Osborne  and  their 
governess,  who  stared  after  her  as  she  went  sadly  away,  wondered 
more  than  ever  what  George  could  see  in  poor  little  Amelia. 

Of  course  they  did.  How  was  she  to  bare  that  timid  little 
heart  for  the  inspection  of  those  young  ladies  with  their  bold  black 
eyes  1  It  was  best  that  it  should  shrink  and  hide  itself.  I  know 
the  Misses  Osborne  were  excellent  critics  of  a  Cashmere  shawl,  or  a 
pink  satin  slip ;  and  when  Miss  Turner  had  hers  dyed  purple,  and 
made  into  a  spencer ;  and  when  Miss  Pickford  had  her  ermine  tippet 
twisted  into  a  muff  and  trimmings,  I  warrant  you  the  changes  did 
not  escape  the  two  intelligent  young  women  before  mentioned.  But 
there  are  things,  look  you,  of  a  finer  texture  than  fur  or  satin,  and 
all  Solomon's  glories,  and  all  the  wardrobe  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba ; 
— things  whereof  the  beauty  escapes  the  eyes  of  many  connoisseurs. 
And  there  are  sweet  modest  little  souls  on  which  you  light,  fragrant 
and  blooming  tenderly  in  quiet  shady  places ;  and  there  are  garden- 
ornaments,  as  big  as  brass  warming-pans,  that  are  fit  to  stare  the 
sun  itself  out  of  countenance.     Miss  Sedley  was  not  of  the  sunflower 


)J 


104  VANITY    FAIR 

sort ;  and  I  say  it  is  out  of  the  rules  of  all  proportion  to  draw  a 
violet  of  the  size  of  a  double  dahlia. 

No,  indeed ;  the  life  of  a  good  young  girl  who  is  in  the  paternal 
nest  as  yet,  can't  have  many  of  those  thrilling  incidents  to  which 
the  heroine  of  romance  commonly  lays  claim.  Snares  or  shot  may 
take  off  the  old  birds  foraging  without — hawks  may  be  abroad, 
from  which  they  escape  or  by  whom  they  suffer ;  but  the  young 
ones  in  the  nest  have  a  pretty  comfortable  unromantic  sort  of  exist- 
ence in  the  down  and  the  straw,  till  it  comes  to  their  turn,  too,  to 
get  on  the  wing.  While  Becky  Sharp  was  on  her  own  wing  in  the 
country,  hopping  on  all  sorts  of  twigs,  and  amid  a  multiplicity  of 
traps,  and  pecking  up  her  food  quite  harmless  and  successful,  Amelia 
lay  snug  in  her  home  of  Russell  Square  ;  if  she  went  into  the  world, 
it  was  under  the  guidance  of  the  elders ;  nor  did  it  seem  that  any 
evil  could  befall  her  or  that  opulent  cheery  comfortable  home  in 
which  she  was  affectionately  sheltered.  Mamma  had  her  morning 
duties,  and  her  daily  drive,  and  the  delightful  round  of  visits  and 
shopping  which  forms  the  amusement,  or  the  profession  as  you  may 
call  it,  of  the  rich  Lojidon  -lady.  Papa  conducted  his  mysterious 
operations  in  the  City — a  stirring  place  in  those  days,  when  war 
was  raging  all  over  Europe,  and  empires  were  being  staked ;  when 
the  Courier  newspaper  had  tens  of  thousands  of  subscribers; 
when  one  day  brought  you  a  battle  of  Vittoria,  another  a  burning 
of  Moscow,  or  a  newsman's  horn  blowing  down  Russell  Square  about 
dinner-time,  announced  such  a  fact  as — "Battle  of  Leipsic — six 
hundred  thousand  men  engaged — total  defeat  of  the  French^ — two 
hundred  thousand  killed."  Old  Sedley  once  or  twice  came  home 
with  a  very  grave  face;  and  no  wonder,  when  such  news  as  this 
was  agitating  all  the  hearts  and  all  the  Stocks  of  Europe. 

Meanwhile  matters  went  on  in  Russell  Square,  Bloomsbury,  just 
as  if  matters  in  Europe  were  not  in  the  least  disorganised.  The 
retreat  from  Leipsic  made  no  difference  in  the  number  of  meals  Mr. 
Sambo  took  in  the  servants'  hall ;  the  allies  poured  into  France,  and 
the  dinner-bell  rang  at  five  o'clock  just  as  usual.  I  don't  think  poor 
Amelia  cared  anything  about  Brienne  and  Montmirail,  or  was  fairly 
interested  in  the  war  until  the  abdication  of  the  Emperor ;  when  she 
clapped  her  hands  and  said  prayers, — oh,  how  grateful !  and  flung 
herself  into  George  Osborne's  arms  with  all  her  soul,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  everybody  who  witnessed  that  ebullition  of  sentiment.  The 
fact  is,  peace  was  declared,  Europe  was  going  to  be  at  rest ;  the 
Corsican  was  overthrown,  and  Lieutenant  Osborne's  regiment  would 
not  be  ordered  on  service.  That  was  the  way  in  which  Miss  AmeUa 
reasoned.  The  fate  of  Europe  was  Lieutenant  George -Osborufe  .to 
her.     His  dangers  being  ovBr,  she  sang  Te  Deum.     He  was  her 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  105 

Europe  :  her  emperor :  her  allied  monarchs  and  august  prince  regent.         \iJL 
He  was  her  sun  and  moon ;  and  I  believe  she  thought  the  grand  illu-  ^^'^^^^y' 
mination  and  ball  at  the  Mansion  House,  given  to  the  sovereigns, 
were  especially  in  honour  of  George /Osborne. 

We  have  talked  of  shift,  self,  and  poverty,  as  those  dismal 
instructoi-s  under  whom  poor  Miss  Becky  Sharp  got  her  education. 
Now,  love  was  Miss  Amelia  Sedley's  last  tutoress,  and  it  was  amazing 
what  progress  our  young  lady  made  under  that  popular  teacher.  In 
the  course  of  fifteen  or  eighteen  months'  daily  and  constant  attention 
to  this  eminent  finishing  governess,  what  a  deal  of  secrets  Amelia 
learned,  which  Miss  Wirt  and  the  black-eyed  young  ladies  over  the 
way,  which  old  Miss  Pinkerton  of  Chiswick  herself,  had  no  cognizance 
of !  As,  indeed,  how  should  any  of  those  prim  and  reputable  virgins  ? 
With  Misses  P.  and  W.  tiie  tender  passion  is  out  of  the  question  :  I 
would  not  dare  to  breathe  such  an  idea  regarding  them.  Miss  Maria 
Osborne,  it  is  true,  was  "attached"  to  Mr.  Frederick  Augustus 
Bullock,  of  the  firm  of  Hulker,  Bullock  &  Bullock ;  but  hers  was  a 
most  respectable  attachment,  and  she  would  have  taken  Bullock 
Senior  just  the  same,  her  mind  being  fixed, — as  that  of  a  well-bred 
young  woman  should  be, — upon  a  house  in  Park  Lane,  a  country  ) 
house  at  Wimbledon,  a  handsome  chariot,  and  two  prodigious  tall  j 
horses  and  footmen,  and  a  fourth  of  the  annual  profits  of  the  eminent  i 
firm  of  Hulker  &  Bidlock,  all  of  which  advantages  were  represented  \ 
in  the  person  of  Frederick  Augustus.  Had  orange  blossoms  been 
invented  then  (those  touching  emblems  of  female  purity  imported 
by  us  from  France,  where  people's  daughters  are  universally  sold 
in  marriage).  Miss  Maria,  I  say,  would  have  assumed  the  spotless 
wreath,  and  stepped  into  the  travelling  carriage  by  the  side  of 
gouty,  old,  bald-headed,  bottle-nosed  Bullock  Senior;  and  devoted 
her  beautiful  existence  to  his  happiness  with  perfect  modesty, — 
only  the  old  gentleman  was  married  already ;  so  she  bestowed  her 
young  affections  on  the  junior  partner.  Sweet,  blooming,  orange 
flowers  !  The  other  day  I  saw  Miss  Trotter  (that  was),  an-ayed 
in  them,  trip  into  the  travelling  carriage  at  St.  George's,  Hanover 
Square,  and  Lord  Methuselah  hobbled  in  after.  With  what  an 
engaging  modesty  she  pulled  down  the  blinds  of  the  chariot — the 
dear  innocent !  There  were  half  the  carriages  of  Vanity  Fair  at 
the  wedding. 

This  was  not  the  sort  of  love  that  finished  Amelia's  education ; 
and  in  the  course  of  a  year  turned  a  good  young  girl  into  a  good 
young  woman — to  be  a  good  wife  presently,  when  the  happy  time 
should  come.  This  young  person  (perhaps  it  was  very  imprudent 
in  her  parents  to  encourage  her,  and  abet  her  in  such  idolatry  and 


106  VANITY    FAIR 

silly  romantic  ideas)  loved,  with  all  her  heart,  the  young  officer  in 
his  Majesty's  service  with  whom  we  have  made  a  brief  acquaintance. 
She  thought  about  him  the  very  first  moment  on  waking ;  and  his 
was  the  very  last  name  mentioned  in  her  prayers.  She  never  had 
seen  a  man  so  beautiftd  or  so  clever :  such  a  figure  on  horseback : 
such  a  dancer :  such  a  hero  in  general.  Talk  of  the  Prince's  bow  ! 
what  was  it  to  George's?  She  had  seen  Mr.  Brummell,  whom 
everybody  praised  so.  Compare  such  a  person  as  that  to  her 
George  !  Not  amongst  all  the  beaux  at  the  Opera  (and  there  were 
beaux  in  those  days  with  actual  opera  hats)  was  there  any  one  to 
equal  him.  He  was  only  good  enough  to  be  a  fairy  prince ;  and  oh, 
what  magnanimity  to  stoop  to  such  a  humble  Cinderella !  Miss 
Pinkerton  would  have  tried  to  check  this  blind  devotion  very  likely, 
had  she  been  Amelia's  confidante;  but  not  with  much  success, 
depend  upon  it.  It  is  in  the  nature  and  instinct  of  some  women. 
i(  Some  are  made  to  scheme,  and  some  to  love  j  and  I  wish  any 
respected  bachelor  that  reads  this  may  take  the  sort  that  best 
likes  him. 

While  under  this  overpowering  impression.  Miss  Amelia  neglected 
her  twelve  dear  friends  at  Chiswick  most  cruelly,  as  such  selfish 
people  commonly  will  do.  She  had  but  this  subject,  of  course,  to 
think  about;  and  Miss  Saltire  was  too  cold  for  a  confidante,  and 
she  couldn't  bring  her  mind  to  tell  Miss  Swartz,  the  woolly-haired 
^•oung  heiress  from  St.  Kitt's.  She  had  little  Laura  Martin  home 
for  the  holidays ;  and  my  belief  is,  she  made  a  confidante  of  her, 
and  promised  that  Laura  should  come  and  live  with  her  when  she 
was  married,  and  gave  Laura  a  great  deal  of  information  regarding 
the  passion  of  love,  which  must  have  been  singularly  useful  and 
\  novel  to  that  little  person.  Alas,  alas  !  I  fear  poor  Emmy  had  not 
I  a  well-regulated  mind. 

What  were  her  parents  doing,  not  to  keep  this  little  heart  from 
beating  so  fast  ?  Old  Sedley  did  not  seem  much  to  notice  matters. 
He  was  graver  of  late,  and  his  City  affairs  absorbed  him.  Mrs. 
Sedley  was  of  so  easy  and  uninquisitive  a  nature,  that  she  wasn't 
even  jealous.  Mr.  Jos  was  away,  being  besieged  by  an  Irish  widow 
at  Cheltenham.  Ameha  had  the  house  to  herself — ah !  too  much 
to  herself  sometimes — not  that  she  ever  doubted;  for,  to  be  sure, 
George  must  be  at  the  Horse-Guards;  and  he  can't  always  get 
leave  from  Chatham ;  and  he  must  see  his  friends  and  sisters,  and 
mingle  in  society  when  in  toAvn  (he,  such  an  ornament  to  every 
society !) ;  and  when  he  is  with  the  regiment,  he  is  too  tired  to 
write  long  letters.  I  know  where  she  kept  that  packet  she  had — 
and  can  steal  in  and  out  of  her  chamber  like  lachimo — Like 
lachimo?    No — that  is  a  bad  part.     I  will  only  act  Moonshine, 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  107 

and  peep  harmless  into  the  bed  where  faith  and  beauty  and  inno- 
cence lie  dreaming. 

But  if  Osborne's  were  short  and  soldierlike  letters,  it  must  be 
confessed,  that  were  Miss  Sedlej^  letters  to  Mr.  Osborne  to  be 
published,,  we  should  have  to  extend  this  novel  to  such  a  multi- 
plicity of  volumes  as  not  the  most  sentimental  reader  could  support ; 
that  she  not  only  filled  sheets  of  large  paper,  but  crossed  them  with 
the  most  astonishing  perverseness ;  that  she  wrote  whole  pages  out 
of  poetry-books  without  the  least  pity ;  that  she  underlined  words 
and  passages  with  quite  a  frantic  emphasis ;  and,  in  fine,  gave  the 
usual  tokens  of  her  condition.  She  wasn't  a  heroine,  -^fler  letters 
were  ftdl  of  repetition.  She  wrote  rather  doubtful  grammar  some- 
times, and  in  her  verses  took  all  sorts  of  liberties  with  the  metre. 
But  oh,  mesdames,  if  you  are  not  allowed  to  touch  the  heart  some- 
times in  spite  of  syntax,  and  are  not  to  be  loved  until  you  all  know 
the  difference  between  trimeter  and  tetrameter,  may  all  Poetry  go 
to  the  deuce,  and  every  schoolmaster  perish  miserably  ! 


CHAPTER  Xni 

SENTIMENTAL  AND  OTHERWISE 

I  FEAR  the  gentleman  to  whom  Miss  Amelia's  letters  were  ad- 
dressed was  rather  an  obdurate  critic.  Such  a  number  of  notes 
followed  Lieutenant  Osborne  about  the  country,  that  he  became 
almost  ashamed  of  the  jokes  of  his  mess-room  companions  regarding 
them,  and  ordered  his  servant  never  to  deliver  them  except  at  his 
private  apartment.  He  was  seen  lighting  his  cigar  with  one,  to  the 
horror  of  Captain  Dobbin,  who,  it  is  my  belief,  would  have  given  a 
bank-note  for  the  document. 

For  some  time  George  strove  to  keep  the  liaison  a  secret.  There 
was  a  woman  in  the  case,  that  he  admitted.  "  And  not  the  first 
either,"  said  Ensign  Spooney  to  Ensign  Stubble.  "  That  Osborne's 
a  devil  of  a  fellow.  There  was  a  judge's  daughter  at  Demeraia  went 
almost  mad  about  him ;  then  there  was  that  beautiful  quadroon  girl. 
Miss  Pye,  at  St.  Vincent's,  you  know;  and  since  he's  been  home, 
they  say  he's  a  regular  Don  Giovanni,  by  Jove." 

Stubble  and  Spooney  thought  that  to  be  a  "regular  Don 
Giovanni,  by  Jove"  was  one  of  the  finest  qualities  a  man  could 
possess ;  and  Osborne's  reputation  was  prodigious  amongst  the  young 
men  of  the  regiment.  He  was  famous  in  field-sports,  famous  at  a 
song,  famous  on  parade ;  free  with  his  money,  which  was  bountifully 
supplied  by  his  father.  His  coats  were  better  made  than  any  man's 
in  the  regiment,  and  he  had  more  of  them.  He  was  adored  by  the 
men.  He  could  drink  more  than  any  officer  of  the  whole  mess, 
including  old  Heavytop,  the  colonel.  He  could  spar  better  than 
Knuckles,  the  private  (who  would  have  been  a  corporal  but  for  his 
drunkenness,  and  who  had  been  in  the  prize-ring) ;  and  was  the  best 
batter  and  bowler,  out  and  out,  of  the  regimental  club.  He  rode 
his  own  horse.  Greased  Lightning,  and  won  the  Garrison  cup  at 
Quebec  races.  There  were  other  people  besides  Amelia  who  wor- 
shipped him.  Stubble  and  Spooney  thought  him  a  sort  of  Apollo ; 
Dobbin  took  him  to  be  an  Admirable  Crichton ;  and  Mrs.  Major 
O'Dowd  acknowledged  he  was  an  elegant  young  fellow,  and  put  her 
in  mind  of  Fitzjurld  Fogarty,  Lord  Castlefogarty's  second  Bon. 

Well,   Stubble  and  Spooney  and   the   rest   indulged   in  most 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  109 

romantic  conjectures  regardin^^  tliis  female  correspondent  of  Osborne's, 
— opining  that  it  was  a  Duchess  in  London  who  was  in  love  with 
him, — or  that  it  was  a  Geneial's  daughter,  who  was  engaged  to 
somebody  else,  and  madly  attached/4o  him, — or  that  it  was  a  Member 
of  Parliament's  lady,  who  proposed  four  horses  and  an  elopement, — 
or  that  it  was  some  other  victim  of  a  passion  delightfully  exciting, 
romantic,  and  disgraceful  to  all  parties,  on  none  of  which  conjectures 
would  Osborne  throw  the  least  light,  leaving  his  young  admirers  and 
friends  to  invent  and  arrange  their  whole  history. 

And  the  real  state  of  the  case  would  never  have  been  known  at 
all  in  the  regiment  but  for  Captain  Dobbin's  indiscretion.  The 
Captain  was  eating  his  breakfast  one  day  in  the  mess-room,  while 
Cackle,  the  assistant-siu-geon,  and  the  two  above-named  worthies 
were  speculating  upon  Osborne's  intrigue — Stubble  holding  out  that 
the  lady  was  a  Duchess  about  Queen  Charlotte's  court,  and  Cackle 
vowing  she  was  an  opera-singer  of  the  worst  reputation.  At  this 
idea  Dobbin  became  so  moved,  that  though  his  mouth  was  full  of 
eggs  and  bread-and-butter  at  the  time,  and  though  he  ought  not  to 
have  spoken  at  all,  yet  he  couldn't  help  blurting  out,  "  Cackle,  you're 
a  stupid  fool.  You're  always  talking  nonsense  and  scandal.  Osborne 
is  not  going  to  run  off  with  a  Duchess  or  niin  a  milliner.  Miss 
Sedley  is  one  of  the  most  charming  young  women  that  ever  lived. 
He's  been  engaged  to  her  ever  so  long ;  and  the  man  who  calls  her 
names  had  better  not  do  so  in  my  hearing."  "With  which,  turning 
exceedingly  red,  Dobbin  ceased  speaking,  and  almost  choked  himself 
with  a  cup  of  tea.  The  story  was  over  the  regiment  in  half-an-hour ; 
and  that  very  evening  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  wrote  off  to  her  sister 
Glorvina  at  O'Dowdstown  not  to  hurry  from  Dublin, — young  Osborne 
being  prematurely  engaged  already. 

She  complimented  the  Lieutenant  in  an  appropriate  speech  over 
a  glass  of  whisky-toddy  that  evening,  and  he  went  home  perfectly 
furious  to  quarrel  with  Dobbin  (who  had  declined  Mrs.  Major 
O'Dowd's  party,  and  sat  in  his  own  room  playing  the  flute,  and,  I 
believe,  writing  poetry  in  a  very  melancholy  manner) — to  quarrel 
with  Dobbin  for  betraying  his  secret. 

"  Who  the  deuce  asked  you  to  talk  about  my  affairs  1 "  Osbonie 
shouted  indignantly.  "  Why  the  devil  is  all  the  regiment  to  know 
that  I  am  going  to  be  married  ?  Why  is  that  tattling  old  harridan, 
Peggy  O'Dowd,  to  make  free  with  my  name  at  her  d — d  supper-table, 
and  advertise  my  engagement  over  the  three  kingdoms  1  After  all, 
what  right  have  you  to  say  I  am  engaged,  or  to  meddle  in  my  busi- 
ness at  all,  Dobbin  ? " 

"  It  seems  to  me "  Captain  Dobbin  began. 

"Seems  be  hanged,  Dobbin,"  his  junior  interrupted  him.     "J 

e 


no  VANITY    FAIR 

am  under  obligations  to  you,  I  know  it,  a  d — d  deal  too  well  too ; 
but  I  won't  be  always  sermonised  by  you  because  you're  five  years 
my  senior.  I'm  hanged  if  I'll  stand  your  airs  of  superiority  and 
infernal  pity  and  patronage.  Pity  and  patronage !  I  should  like 
to  know  in  what  I'm  your  inferior  1 " 

"  Are  you  engaged '? "  Captain  Dobbin  interposed. 

"  What  the  devil's  that  to  you  or  any  one  here  if  I  am  1 " 

"  Are  you  ashamed  of  it  ? "  Dobbin  resumed. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  ask  me  that  question,  sir  ?  I  should 
Uke  to  know,"  George  said. 

"Good  God,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  to  break  off?" 
asked  Dobbin,  starting  up. 

"  In  other  words,  you  ask  me  if  I'm  a  man  of  honour,"  said 
Osborne  fiercely ;  "is  that  what  you  mean  1  You've  adopted  such  a 
tone  regarding  me  lately  that  I'm if  I'll  bear  it  any  more." 

"  What  have  I  done  1  I've  told  you  you  were  neglecting  a  sweet 
girl,  George.  I've  told  you  that  when  you  go  to  town  you  ought  to 
go  to  her,  and  not  to  the  gambling-houses  about  St.  James's." 

"  You  want  your  money  back,  I  suppose,"  said  George,  with  a 
sneer. 

"  Of  course  I  do — I  always  did,  didn't  1 1 "  says  Dobbin.  "  You 
speak  like  a  generous  fellow." 

"  No,  hang  it,  William,  I  beg  your  pardon  " — here  George  inter- 
posed in  a  fit  of  remorse ;  "  you  have  been  my  friend  in  a  hundred 
ways.  Heaven  knows.  You've  got  me  out  of  a  score  of  scrapes.  When 
Crawley  of  the  Guards  won  that  sum  of  money  of  me^  I  should  have 
been  done  but  for  you  :  I  know  I  should.  But  you  shouldn't  deal  so 
hardly  with  me ;  you  shouldn't  be  always  catechising  me.  I  am  very 
fond  of  Amelia ;  I  adore  her,  and  that,  sort  of  thing.  Don't  look 
J  f  angry.  She's  faultless ;  I  know  she  is.  But  you  see  there's  no  fun 
Lfin  winning  a  thing  unless  you  play  for  it.  Hang  it :  the  regiment's 
just  back  from  the  West  Indies,  I  must  have  a  little  fling,  and  then 
when  I'm  married  I'll  reform ;  I  will  upon  my  honour,  now.  And — 
I  say — Dob — don't  be  angry  with  me,  and  I'U  give  you  a  hundred 
next  month,  when  I  know  my  father  will  stand  something  handsome ; 
and  I'll  ask  Heavytop  for  leave,  and  I'll  go  to  town,  and  see  Amelia 
to-morrow — there  now,  will  that  satisfy  you  '1 " 

"It  is  impossible  to  be  long  angry  with  you,  George,"  said  the 
good-natured  Captain ;  "  and  as  for  the  money,  old  boy,  you  know  if 
I  wanted  it  you'd  share  your  last  shilling  with  me." 

"  That  I  would,  by  Jove,  Dobbin,"  George  said,  with  the  greatest 
generosity,  though  by  the  way  he  never  had  any  money  to  spare. 

"  Only  I  wish  you  had  sown  those  wild-oats  of  yours,  George.  If 
you  could  have  seen  poor  little  Miss  Emmy's  face  when  she  asked  me 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  iii 

about  you  the  other  day,  you  would  have  pitched  those  billiard-balls 
to  the  deuce.  Go  and  comfort  her,  you  rascal.  Go  and  write  her  a 
long  letter.     Do  something  to  make  her  happy ;  a  very  little  will." 

"  I  believe  she's  d — d  fond  of  ifie,"  the  Lieutenant  said,  with  a 
self-satisfied  air ;  and  went  off  to  finish  the  evening  with  some  jolly 
fellows  in  the  mess-room. 

Ameha  meanwhile,  in  Russell  Square,  was  looking  at  the  moon,  - 
which  was  shining  upon  that  peaceful  spot,  as  well  as  upon  the  square 
of  the  Chatham  barracks,  where  Lieutenant  Osborne  was  quartered, 
and  thinking  to  herself  how  her  hero  was  employed.  Perhaps  he  is 
visiting  the  sentries,  thought  she ;  perhaps  he  is  bivouacking ;  per- 
haps he  is  attending  the  couch  of  a  wounded  comrade,  or  studying  the 
art  of  war  up  in  his  own  desolate  chamber.  And  her  kind  thoughts 
sped  away  as  if  they  were  angels  and  had  wings,  and  flying  down  the 
river  to  Chatham  and  Rochester,  strove  to  peep  into  the  barracks 
where  George  was.  .  .  .  All  things  considered,  I  think  it  was  as  well 
the  gates  were  shut,  and  the  sentry  allowed  no  one  to  pass ;  so  that  the 
poor  little  white-robed  angel  could  not  hear  the  songs  those  young 
fellows  were  roaring  over  the  whisky-punch. 

The  day  after  the  little  conversation  at  Chatham  barracks,  young 
Osborne,  to  show  that  he  would  be  as  good  as  his  word,  prepared  to 
go  to  town,  thereby  incurring  Captain  Dobbin's  applause.  "  I  should 
have  liked  to  make  her  a  little  present,"  Osborne  said  to  his  friend  in 
confidence,  "  only  I  am  quite  out  of  cash  until  my  father  tips  up." 
But  Dobbin  would  not  allow  this  good-nature  and  generosity  to  be 
balked,  and  so  accommodated  Mr.  Osborne  with  a  few  pound  notes, 
which  the  latter  took  after  a  little  faint  scruple. 

And  I  dare  say  he  would  have  bought  something  very  handsome 
for  Amelia;  only,  getting  off  the  coach  in  Fleet  Street,  he  was  attracted 
by  a  handsome  shirt-pin  in  a  jeweller's  window,  which  he  could  not 
resist ;  and  having  paid  for  that,  had  very  little  money  to  spare  for 
indulginginany  further  exercise  of  kindness.    Never  mind  :  you  may  ^^ 

be  sure  it  was  not  his  presents  Amelia  wanted.     When  he  came  to  ^^^^^   . 
Russell  Square,  her  face  lighted  up  as  if  he  had  been  sunshine.     The  \  i/^  ^^^^ 
little  cares,  fears,  tears,  timid  misgivings,  sleepless  fancies  of  I  don't  I  \^'  t^ 
know  how  many  days  and  nights,  were  forgotten,  under  one  moment's  '' 

influence  of  that  familiar,  irresistible  smile.  He  beamed  on  her  from 
the  drawing-room  door — magnificent,  with  ambrosial  whiskers,  like  a  l^ 
god.  Sambo,  whose  face  as  he  announced  Captain  Osbin  (having  con- 
ferred a  brevet  rank  on  that  young  officer)  blazed  with  a  sympathetic 
grin,  saw  the  little  girl  start,  and  flush,  and  jump  up  from  her  watching- 
place  in  the  window ;  and  Sambo  retreated  :  and  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  shut,  she  went  fluttering  to  Lieutenant  George  Osborne's  heart 
as  if  it  was  the  only  natural  home  for  her  to  nestle  in.     Oh,  thou 


u^^ 


/ 

v 


111  VANITY    FAIR 


poor  panting  little  soul !     The  very  finest  tree  in  the  whole  forest, 

x  with  the  straightest  stem,  and  the  strongest  arms,  and  the  thickest 

foliage,  wherein  you  choose  to  build  and  coo,  may  be  marked,  for 

.  what  you  know,  and  may  be  down  with  a  crash  ere  long.     What  an 

iy  *-^    old,  old  simile  that  is,  between  man  and  timber. 

In  the  meanwhile,  George  kissed  her  very  kindly  on  her  fore- 
head and  glistening  eyes,  and  was  very  gracious  and  good ;  and  she 
thought  his  diamond  shirt-pin  (which  she  had  not  known  him  to 
wear  before)  the  prettiest  ornament  ever  seen. 

The  observant  reader,  who  has  marked  our  young  Lieutenant's 
previous  behaviour,  and  has  preserved  our  report  of  the  brief  con- 
versation which  he  has  just  had  with  Captain  Dobbin,  has  possibly 
come  to  certain  conclusions  regarding  the  character  of  Mr.  Osborne. 
Some  cynical  Frenchman  has  said  that  there  are  two  parties  to  a 
love-transaction  :  the  one  who  loves  and  the  other  who  condescends 
to  be  so  treated.  Perhaps  the  love  is  occasionally  on  the  man's 
side ;  perhaps  on  the  lady's.  Perhaps  some  infatuated  swain  has 
ere  this  mistaken  insensibility  for  modesty,  dulness  for  maiden 
reserve,  mere  vacuity  for  sweet  bashfulness,  and  a  goose,  in  a  word, 
for  a  swan.  Perhaps  some  beloved  female  subscriber  has  arrayed 
an  ass  in  the  splendour  and  glory  of  her  imagination ;  admired  his 
dulness  as  manly  simplicity;  worshipped  his  selfishness  as  manly 
superiority ;  treated  his  stupidity  as  majestic  gravity,  and  used  him 
as  the  brilliant  fairy  Titaiiia  did  a  certain  weaver  at  Athens.  I 
think  I  liave  seen  such  comedies  of  errors  going  on  in  the  world. 
But  this  is  certain,  that  Amelia  believed  her  lover  to  be  one  of  the 
most  gallant  and  brilliant  men  in  the  empire :  and  it  is  possible 
Lieutenant  Osborne  thought  so  too. 

He  was  a  little  wild :  how  many  young  men  are ;  and  don't 
^  "^.  girls  like  a  rake  better  than  a  milksop  1  He  hadn't  sowri  his  wild- 
y^KAjf^  oats  as  yet,  but  he  would  soon  :  and  quit  tlie  army~iiow  that  peace 
^  was  proclaimed ;  the  Corsican  monster  locked  up  at  Elba ;  promo- 
tion by  consequence  over ;  and  no  chance  left  for  the  display  of  his 
undoubted  military  talents  and  valour ;  and  his  allowance,  with 
Amelia's  settlement,  would  enable  them  to  take  a  snug  place  in  the 
country  somewhere,  in  a  good  sporting  neighbourhood;  and  he 
would  hunt  a  little,  and  farm  a  little;  and  they  would  be  very 
happy.  As  for  remaining  in  the  army  as  a  married  man,  that  was 
impossible.  Fancy  Mrs.  George  Osborne  in  lodgings  in  a  county 
town ;  or,  worse  still,  in  the  East  or  West  Indies,  with  a  society  of 
officers,  and  patronised  by  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  !  Amelia  died  with 
laughing  at  Osborne's  stories  about  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd.  He  loved 
Jjer  much  too  fondly  to  subject  her  to  that  horrid  woman  and  hex 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  113 

vulgarities,  and  the  rough  treatment  of  a  soldier's  wife.  He  didn't 
care  for  himself — not  he ;  but  his  dear  little  girl  should  take  the 
place  in  society  to  which,  as  his  wife,  she  was  entitled  :  and  to  these 
proposals  you  may  be  sure  she  acceded,  as  she  would  to  any  other 
from  the  same  author. 

Holding  this  kind  of  conversation,  and  building  numberless 
castles  in  the  air  (which  Amelia  adorned  with  all  sorts  of  flower- 
gardens,  rustic  walks,  country  churches,  Sunday  schools,  and  the 
like ;  while  George  had  his  mind's  eye  directed  to  the  stables,  the 
kennel,  and  the  cellar),  this  yoimg  pair  passed  away  a  couple  of 
hours  very  pleasantly ;  and  as  the  Lieutenant  had  only  that  single 
day  in  town,  and  a  great  deal  of  most  important  business  to  trans- 
act, it  was  proposed  that  Miss  Emmy  should  dine  with  her  futui-e 
sisters-in-law.  This  invitation  was  accepted  joyfully.  He  conducted 
her  to  his  sisters ;  where  he  left  her  talking  and  prattling  in  a  way 
that  astonished  those  ladies,  who  thought  that  George  might  make 
something  of  her  j  and  he  then  went  off  to  transact  his  business. 

In  a  word,  he  went  out  and  ate  ices  at  a  pastry-cook's  shop  in 
Charing  Cross ;  tried  a  new  coat  in  Pall  Mall ;  dropped  in  at  the  Old 
Slaughters',  and  called  for  Captain  Cannon ;  played  eleven  games  at 
billiards  with  the  Captain,  of  which  he  won  eight,  and  returned  to 
Russell  Square  half-an-hour  late  for  dinner,  but  in  very  good  humour. 

It  was  not  so  with  old  Mr.  Osborne.  When  that  gentleman 
came  from  the  City,  and  was  welcomed  in  the  drawing-room  by  his 
daughters  and  the  elegant  Miss  Wirt,  they  saw  at  once  by  his  face — 
which  was  puffy,  solemn,  and  yellow  at  the  best  of  times — and  by 
the  scowl  and  twitching  of  his  black  eyebrows,  that  the  heart  within 
his  large  white  waistcoat  was  disturbed  and  uneasy.  When  Amelia 
stepped  forward  to  salute  him,  which  she  always  did  with  great 
trembling  and  timidity  he  gave  a  surly  grunt  of  recognition,  and 
dropped  the  little  hand  out  of  his  great  hirsute  paw  without  any 
attempt  to  hold  it  there.  He  looked  round  gloomily  at  his  eldest 
daughter ;  who,  comprehending  the  meaning  of  his  look,  which  asked 
unmistakably,  "  Why  the  devil  is  she  here  1 "  said  at  once — 

"  George  is  in  town,  papa ;  and  has  gone  to  the  Horse  Guards, 
and  will  be  back  to  dinner." 

"  Oh,  he  is,  is  he  ?  I  won't  have  the  dinner  kept  waiting  for  htm, 
Jane  ; "  with  which  this  worthy  man  lapsed  into  his  particular  chair, 
and  then  the  utter  silence  in  his  genteel,  well-furnished  drawing- 
room  was  only  interrupted  by  the  alarmed  ticking  of  the  great 
French  clock. 

When  that  chronometer,  which  was  surmounted  by  a  cheerful 
brass  group  of  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia,  tolled  five  in  a  heavy 

11 


114  VANITY    FAIR 

cathedral  tone,  Mr.  Osborne  pulled  the  bell  at  his  right  hand 
violently,  and  the  butler  rushed  up. 

"  Dinner !  '*  roared  Mr.  Osborne. 

"  Mr.  George  isn't  come  in,  sir,"  interposed  the  man. 

"  Damn  Mr.  George,  sir.  Am  I  master  of  the  house  ?  Dinner  ! '' 
Mr.  Osborne  scowled.  Amelia  trembled.  A  telegraphic  communica- 
tion of  eyes  passed  between  the  other  three  ladies.  The  obedient 
bell  in  the  lower  regions  began  ringing  the  announcement  of  the 
meal.  The  tolling  over,  the  head  of  the  family  thrust  his  hands 
into  the  great  tail-pockets  of  his  great  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons, 
imd  without  waiting  for  a  further  announcement,  strode  downstairs 
alone,  scowling  over  his  shoulder  at. the  four  females. 

"What's  the  matter  now,  my  dear?"  asked  one  of  the  other, 
as  they  rose  and  tripped  gingerly  behind  the  sire. 

"  I  suppose  the  funds  are  falling,"  whispered  Miss  Wirt ;  and 
80,  trembling  and  in  silence,  this  hushed  female  company  followed 
their  dark  leader.  They  took  their  places  in  silence.  He  growled 
out  a  blessing,  which  sounded  as  gruffly  as  a  curse.  The  great 
silver  dish-covers  were  removed.  Amelia  trembled  in  her  place,  for 
she  was  next  to  the  awful  Osborne,  and  alone  on  her  side  of  the 
table — the  gap  being  occasioned  by  the  absence  of  George. 

"  Soup  ? "  says  Mr.  Osborne,  clutching  the  ladle,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  her,  in  a  sepulchral  tone ;  and  having  helped  her  and  the  rest, 
did  not  speak  for  a  while. 

"  Take  Miss  Sedley's  plate  away,"  at  last  he  said.  "  She  can't 
eat  the  soup — no  more  can  I.  It's  beastly.  Take  away  the  soup. 
Hicks,  and  to-morrow  turn  the  cook  out  of  the  house,  Jane." 

Having  concluded  his  observations  upon  the  soup,  Mr.  Osborne 
made  a  few  curt  remarks  respecting  the  fish,  also  of  a  savage  and 
satirical  tendency,  and  cursed  Billingsgate  with  an  emphasis  quite 
worthy  of  the  place.  Then  he  lapsed  into  silence,  and  swallowed 
sundry  glasses  of  wine,  looking  more  and  more  terrible,  till  a  brisk 
knock  at  the  door  told  of  George's  arrival,  when  everybody  began 
to  rally. 

"  He  could  not  come  before.  General  Daguilet  had  kept  him 
waiting  at  the  Horse  Guards.  Never  mind  soup  or  fish.  Give  him 
anything — he  didn't  care  what.  Capital  mutton — capital  every- 
thing." His  good  humour  contrasted  with  his  father's  severity; 
and  he  rattled  on  unceasingly  during  dinner,  to  the  delight  of  all — 
of  one  especially,  who  need  not  be  mentioned. 

As  soon  as  the  young  ladies  had  discussed  the  orange  and  the 
glass  of  wine  which  formed  the  ordinary  conclusion  of  the  dismal 
banquets  at  Mr.  Osborne's  house,  the  signal  to  make  sail  for  the 
drawing-room  was  given,  and  they  all  arose  and  departed.     Amelia 


MR.  OSBORNS'S   WELCOME   TO   AMELIA. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  115 

hoped  George  would  soon  join  them  there.  She  began  playing  some 
of  his  favourite  waltzes  (then  newly  imported)  at  the  great  carved- 
legged,  leather-cased  grand  piano  in  the  drawing-room  overhead. 
This  little  artifice  did  not  bring  hiiji.  He  was  deaf  to  the  waltzes ; 
they  grew  fainter  and  fainter;  the  discomfited  performer  left  the 
huge  instrument  presently;  and  though  her  three  friends  per- 
formed some  of  the  loudest  and  most  brilliant  new  pieces  of  their 
repertoire,  she  did  not  hear  a  single  note,  but  sate  thinking,  and 
boding  evil.  Old  Osborne's  scowl,  terrific  always,  had  never  before 
looked  so  deadly  to  her.  His  eyes  followed  her  out  of  the  room, 
as  if  she  had  been  guilty  of  something.  When  they  brought  her 
coffee,  she  started  as  though  it  were  a  cup  of  poison  which  Mr. 
Hicks,  the  butler,  wished  to  propose  to  her.  What  mystery  was 
there  lurking  1  Oh,  those  women !  They  nurse  and  cuddle  their 
presentiments,  and  make  darlings  of  their  ugliest  thoughts,  as  they 
do  of  their  deformed  children. 

The  gloom  on  the  paternal  countenance  had  also  impressed  George 
Osborne  with  anxiety.  With  such  eyebrows,  and  a  look  so  decidedly 
bilious,  how  was  he  to  extract  that  money  fi-om  the  governor,  of 
which  George  was  consumedly  in  want?  He  began  praising  his 
father's  wine.  That  was  generally  a  successful  means  of  cajoling 
the  old  gentleman. 

"  We  never  got  such  Madeira  in  the  West  Indies,  sir,  as  yours. 
Colonel  Heavytop  took  off  three  bottles  of  that  you  sent  me  down, 
under  his  belt  the  other  day." 

"  Did  he  1 "  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  It  stands  me  in  eight 
shillings  a  bottle." 

"  Will  you  take  six  guineas  a  dozen  for  it,  sir  ? "  said  George, 
with  a  laugh.  "  There's  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  kingdom 
wants  some." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  growled  the  senior.     "  Wish  he  may  get  it." 

"  When  General  Daguilet  was  at  Chatham,  sir,  Heavytop  gave 
him  a  breakfast,  and  asked  me  for  some  of  the  wine.  The  General 
liked  it  just  as  well — wanted  a  pipe  for  the  Commander-in-Chief. 
He's  his  Royal  Highness's  right-hand  man." 

"  It  is  devilish  fine  wine,"  said  the  Eyebrows,  and  they  looked 
more  good-humoured ;  and  George  was  going  to  take  advantage  of 
this  complacency,  and  bring  the  supply  question  on  the  mahogany, 
when  the  father,  relapsing  into  solemnity,  though  rather  cordial  in 
manner,  bade  him  ring  the  bell  for  claret.  "  And  we'll  see  if  that's 
as  good  as  the  Madeira,  George,  to  which  his  Royal  Highness  is 
welcome,  I'm  sure.  And  as  we  are  drinking  it,  I'll  talk  to  you 
about  a  matter  of  importance." 

Amelia  heard  the  claret  bell  ring  as  she  sat  tervously  upstairs. 


ti6  VANITY   FAIR 

She  thought,  somehow,  it  was  a  mysterious  and  presentimental  bell. 
Of  the  presentiments  which  some  people  are  always  having,  some 
surely  must  come  right. 

"  What  I  want  to  know,  George,"  the  old  gentleman  said,  after 
slowly  smacking  his  first  bumper — "  What  I  want  to  know  is,  how 
you  and — ah — that  little  thing  upstairs  are  carrying  on  1 " 

"  I  think,  sir,  it's  not  hard  to  see,"  George  said,  with  a  self- 
satisfied  grin.     "  Pretty  clear,  sir. — What  capital  wine  !  " 

"  What  d'you  mean,  pretty  clear,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  hang  it,  sir,  don't  push  me  too  hard.  I'm  a  modest 
man.  I — ah — I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  lady-killer ;  but  I  do  own 
that  she's  as  devilish  fond  of  me  as  she  can  be.  Anybody  can  see 
that  with  half  an  eye." 

"  And  you  yourself?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  didn't  you  order  me  to  marry  her,  and  ain't  I  a 
good  boy  ?     Haven't  our  papas  settled  it  ever  so  long  1 " 

"  A  pretty  boy,  indeed.  Haven't  I  heard  of  your  doings,  sir, 
with  Lord  Tarquin,  Captain  Crawley  of  the  Guards,  the  Honourable 
Mr.  Deuceace,  and  that  set.     Have  a  care,  sir,  liave  a  care." 

The  old  gentleman  pronounced  these  aristocratic  names  with  the 
greatest  gusto.  Whenever  he  met  a  gTeat  man  he  grovelled  before 
him,  and  my-lorded  him  as  only  a  free-born  Briton  can  do.  He 
came  home  and  looked  out  his  history  in  the  Peerage  ;  he  introduced 
his  name  into  his  daily  conversation ;  he  bragged  about  his  Lordship 
to  his  daughters.  He  fell  down  prostrate  and  basked  in  him  as  a 
Neapolitan  beggar  does  in  the  sun.  George  was  alarmed  when  he 
heard  the  names.  He  feared  his  father  might  have  been  informed 
of  certain  transactions  at  play.  But  the  old  moralist  eased  him  by 
saying  serenely— 

"  Well,  well,  young  men  will  be  young  men.  And  the  comfort 
to  me  is,  George,  tliat  living  in  the  best  society  in  England,  as  I  hope 
you  do  ;  as  I  think  you  do  ;  as  my  means  will  allow  you  to  do " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  says  George,  making  his  point  at  once.  "  One 
can't  live  with  these  great  folks  for  nothing  ;  and  my  purse,  sir,  look 
at  it ; "  and  he  held  up  a  little  token  which  had  been  netted  by 
Amelia,  and  contained  the  very  last  of  Dobbin's  pound  notes. 

"You  shan't  want,  sir.  The  British  merchant's  son  shan't 
want,  sir.  My  guineas  are  as  good  as  theirs,  George,  my  boy  ;  and 
I  don't  grudge  'em.  Call  on  Mr^  Chopper  as  you  go  through  the 
City  to-morrow  ;  he'll  have  something  for  you.  I  don't  grudge 
money  when  I  know  you're  in  good  society,  because  I  know  that 
good  society  can  never  go  wrong.  There's  no  pride  in  me.  I  was 
a  humbly  born  man — but  you  have  had  advantages.  Make  a  good 
use  of  'em.     Mix  with  the  young  nobility.     There's  many  of  'em 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  117 

who  can't  spend  a  dollar  to  your  guinea,  my  boy.  And  as  for  the 
pink  bonnets  (here  from  under  the  heavy  eyebrows  there  came  a 
knowing  and  not  very  pleasing  leer) — wliy,  boys  will  be  boys.  Only 
there's  one  thing  I  order  you  to  avoi^,  which,  if  you  do  not,  I'll  cut 
you  off  with  a  shilling,  by  Jove  ;  and  that's  gambling,  sir." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  sir,"  said  George. 

"  But  to  return  to  the  other  business  about  Amelia :  why 
shouldn't  you  marry  higher  than  a  stockbroker's  daughter,  George 
—that's  what  I  want  to  know  1 " 

"  It's  a  family  business,  sir,"  says  George,  cracking  filberts. 
"  You  and  Mr.  Sedley  made  the  match  a  hundred  years  ago." 

"  I  don't  deny  it ;  but  people's  positions  alter,  sir.      I  don't  \ 
deny  that  Sedley  made  my  fortune,  or  rather  put  me  in  the  way  i 
of  acquiring,  by  my  own  talents  and  genius,  that  proud  position  j 
which,  I  may  say,  I  occupy  in  the  tallow  trade  and  the  City  of 
London.     I've  shown  my  gratitude  to  Sedley ;  and  he's  tried  it 
of  late,  sir,  as  my  cheq<ue-book  can  show.     George  !  I  tell  you  in 
confidence  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  Mr.  Sedley's  affairs.     My  chief 
clerk,  Mr.  Chopper,  does  not  like  the  looks  of  'em,  and  he's  an  old 
file,  and  knows  'Change  as  well  as  any  man  in  London.     Hulker 
and  Bullock  are  looking  shy  at  him.      He's  been  dabbling  on  his 
own  account,  I  fear.     They  say  the  Jeime  Amelie  was  his,  which  was 
taken  by  the  Yankee  privateer  Molasses.     And  that's  flat, — unless 
I  see  Amelia's  ten  thousand  down  you  don't  marry  her.    I'll  have  no 
lame  duck's  daughter  in  my  family.     Pass  the  wine,  sir — or  ring 
for  coffee." 

With  which  Mr.  Osborne  spread  out  the  evening  paper,  and 
George  knew  from  this  signal  that  the  colloquy  was  ended,  and  that 
his  papa  was  about  to  take  a  nap. 

He  hurried  upstairs  to  Amelia  in  the  highest  spirits.    What  was 
it  that  made  him  more  attentive  to  her  on  that  night  than  he  had 
been  for  a  long  time — more  eager  to  amuse  her,  more  tender,  more  v 
brilliant  in  talk  '<     Was  it  that  his  generous  heart  warmed  to  her  at  / 
the  prospect  of  misfortune ;  or  that  the  idea  of  losing  the  dear  little  \ 
prize  made  him  value  it  more  1  ^^ 

She  lived  upon  the  recollections  of  that  happy  evening  for  many 
days  afterwards,  remembering  his  words ;  his  looks ;  the  song  he 
sang;  his  attitude,  as  he  leant  over  her  or  looked  at  her  from  a 
distance.  As  it  seemed  to  her,  no  night  ever  passed  so  quickly  at 
Mr.  Osborne's  house  before;  and  for  once  this  young  person  was 
almost  provoked  to  be  angry  by  the  premature  arrival  of  Mr,  Sambo 
with  her  shawl. 

George  came  and  took  a  tender  leave  of  her  the  next  morning ; 
and  then  hurried  off  to  the  City,  where  he  visited  Mr.  Chopper,  his 


tl 


^  VANITY   FAIH 


father's  head  man,  and  received  from  that  gentleman  a  document 
which  he  exchanged  at  Hulker  &  Bullock's  far  a  whole  pocketful  of 
money.  As  George  entered  the  house,  old  John  Sedley  was  passing 
out  of  the  banker's  parlour,  looking  very  dismal.  But  his  godson  was 
much  too  elated  to  mark  the  worthy  stockbroker's  depression,  or  the 
dreary  eyes  which  the  kind  old  gentleman  cast  upon  him.  Young 
Bullock  did  not  come  grinning  out  of  the  parlour  with  him  as  had 
been  his  wont  in  former  years 

And  as  the  swinging  doors  of  Hulker,  Bullock  &  Co.  closed  upon 
Mr.  Sedley,  Mr.  Quill,  the  cashier  (whose  benevolent  occupation  it  is 
to  hand  out  crisp  bank-notes  from  a  drawer  and  dispense  sovereigns 
out  of  a  copper  shovel),  winked  at  Mr.  Driver,  the  clerk  at  the  desk 
on  his  right.     Mr.  Driver  winked  again. 

"  No  go,"  Mr.  D.  whispered. 

"  Not  at  no  price,"  Mr.  Q.  said.  "  Mr.  George  Osborne,  sir,  how 
will  you  take  it  1 "  George  crammed  eagerly  a  quantity  of  notes  into 
his  pockets,  and  paid  Dobbin  fifty  pounds  that  very  evening  at  mess. 

That  very  evening  Amelia  wrote  him  the  tenderest  of  long  letters. 
Her  heart  was  overflowing  with  tenderness,  but  it  still  foreboded 
evil.  What  was  the  cause  of  Mr.  Osborne's  dark  looks  ?  she  asked. 
Had  any  difference  arisen  between  him  and  her  papa "?  Her  poor 
papa  returned  so  melancholy  from  the  City,  that  all  were  alarmed 
about  him  at  home — in  fine,  there  were  four  pages  of  loves  and  fears 
and  hopes  and  forebodings. 

"  Poor  little  Emmy — dear  little  Emmy.  How  fond  she  is  of 
me,"  George  said,  as  he  perused  the  missive — "and  Gad,  what  a 
headache  that  mixed  punch  has  given  me  ! "  Poor  little  Emmy, 
indeed. 


* 

CHAPTER   XIV 

MISS  CRAWLEY  AT  HOME 

A  BOUT  this  time  there  drove  up  to  an  exceedingly  snug  and 
l\  well-appointed  house  in  Park  Lane,  a  travelling  chariot  with 
-*  »-  a  lozenge  on  the  panels,  a  discontented  female  in  a  green  veil 
and  crimped  curls  on  the  rumble,  and  a  large  and  confidential  man 
on  the  box.  It  was  the  equipage  of  our  friend  Miss  Crawley,  return- 
ing from  Hants.  The  carriage  windows  were  shut ;  the  fat  spaniel, 
whose  head  and  tongue  ordinarily  lolled  out  of  one  of  them,  reposed 
on  the  lap  of  the  discontented  female.  When  the  vehicle  stopped, 
a  large  round  bundle  of  shawls  was  taken  out  of  the  carriage  by  the 
aid  of  various  domestics  and  a  young  lady  who  accompanied  the 
heap  of  cloaks.  That  bundle  contained  Miss  Crawley,  who  was  con- 
veyed upstairs  forthwith,  and  put  into  a  bed  and  chamber  warmed 
properly  as  for  the  reception  of  an  invalid.  Messengers  went  off 
for  her  physician  and  medical  man.  They  came,  consulted,  pre- 
scribed, vanished.  The  young  companion  of  Miss  Crawley,  at  the 
conclusion  of  their  interview,  came  in  to  receive  their  instructions, 
and  administered  those  antiphlogistic  medicines  which  the  eminent 
men  ordered. 

Captain  Crawley  of  the  Life  Guards  rode  up  from  Knights- 
bridge  Barracks  the  next  day ;  his  black  charger  pawed  the  straw 
before  his  invalid  aunt's  door.  He  was  most  affectionate  in  his 
inquiries  regarding  that  amiable  relative.  There  seemed  to  be  much 
source  of  apprehension.  He  found  Miss  Crawley's  maid  (the  dis- 
contented female)  unusually  sulky  and  despondent ;  he  found  Miss 
Briggs,  her  dame  de  compagnie,  in  tears  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 
She  had  hastened  home,  hearing  of  her  beloved  friend's  illness.  She 
wished  to  fly  to  her  couch,  that  couch  which  she,  Briggs,  had  so 
often  smoothed  in  the  hour  of  sickness.  She  was  denied  admission 
to  Miss  Crawley's  apartment.  A  stranger  was  administering  her 
medicines — a  stranger  from  the  country — an  odious  Miss  .  .  . — 
tears  choked  the  utterance  of  the  dame  de  compagnie,  and  she 
buried  her  ciTished  affections  and  her  poor  old  red  nose  in  her 
pocket-handkerchief. 

Rawdon  Crawley  sent  up  his  name  by  the  sulky  femme  de 


lao  VANITY    FAIR 

chambre,  and  Miss  Crawley's  new  companion,  coming  tripping  down 
from  the  sick-room,  put  a  little  hand  into  his  as  he  stepped  forward 
eagerly  to  meet  her,  gave  a  glance  of  great  scorn  at  the  bewildered 
Briggs,  and  beckoning  the  young  guardsman  out  of  the  back 
drawing-room,  led  him  downstairs  into  that  now  desolate  dining- 
parlour,  where  so  many  a  good  dinner  had  been  celebrated. 

Here  these  two  talked  for  ten  minutes,  discussing,  no  doubt, 
the  symptoms  of  the  old  invalid  above  stairs ;  at  the  end  of  which 
period  the  parlour  bell  was  rung  briskly,  and  answered  on  that 
instant  by  Mr.  Bowls,  Miss  Crawley's  large  confidential  butler  (who, 
indeed,  happened  to  be  at  the  keyhole  during  the  most  part  of  the 
interview) ;  and  the  Captain  coming  out,  curhng  his  mustachios, 
mounted  the  black  charger  pawing  among  the  straw,  to  the  admira- 
tion of  the  little  blackguard  boys  collected  in  the  street.  He  looked 
in  at  the  dining-room  window,  managing  his  horse,  which  curvetted 
and  capered  beautifully — for  one  instant  the  young  person  might  be 
seen  at  the  window,  when  her  figure  vanished,  and,  doubtless,  she 
went  upstairs  again  to  resume  the  affecting  duties  of  benevolence. 
i  Who  could  this  young  woman  be,  I  wonder  1  That  evening  a 
little  dinner  for  two  persons  was  laid  in  the  dining-room — when 
Mrs.  Firkin,  the  lady's-maid,  pushed  into  her  mistress's  apartment, 
and  bustled  about  there  during  the  vacancy  occasioned  by  the 
departure  of  the  new  nurse — and  the  latter  and  Miss  Briggs  sat 
down  to  the  neat  little  meal. 

Briggs  was  so  much  choked  by  emotion  that  she  could  hardly 
take  a  morsel  of  meat.  The  young  person  carved  a  fowl  with  the 
utmost  delicacy,  and  asked  so  distinctly  for  egg-sauce,  that  poor 
Briggs,  before  whom  that  delicious  condiment  was  placed,  started, 
made  a  great  clattering  with  the  ladle,  and  once  more  fell  back  in 
the  most  gushing  hysterical  state. 

"  Had  you  not  better  give  Miss  Briggs  a  glass  of  wine  ? "  said 
the  person  to  Mr.  Bowls,  the  large  confidential  man.  He  did  so. 
Briggs  seized  it  mechanically,  gasped  it  down  convulsively,  moaned 
a  little,  and  began  to  play  with  the  chicken  on  her  plate. 

"  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  help  each  other,"  said  the  person 
with  great  suavity :  "  and  shall  have  no  need  of  Mr.  Bowls's  kind 
services.  Mr.  Bowls,  if  you  please,  we  will  ring  when  we  want 
you."  He  went  downstairs,  where,  by  the  way,  he  vented  the  most 
horrid  curses  upon  the  unoffending  footman,  his  subordinate. 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  take  on  so.  Miss  Briggs,"  the  young  lady  said, 
with  a  cool,  slightly  sarcastic,  air. 

"My  dearest  friend  is  so  ill,  and  wo — o — o — on't  see  me," 
(gurgled  out  Briggs  in  an  agony  of  renewed  grief. 

"She's  not  very  ill  any  more.     Console  yourself,  dear  Miss 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  121 

Briggs.  She  has  only  over-eaten  herself — that  is  all.  tthe  is 
greatly  better.  She  will  soon  be  quite  restored  again'  She  is  weak 
from  being  cupped  and  from  medical  treatment,  but  she  will  rally 
immediately.     Pray  console  your^lf,  and  take  a  little  more  wine." 

"  But  why,  why  won't  she  see  me  again  1 "  Miss  Briggs  bleated 
out.  "  Oh,  Matilda,  Matilda,  after  three-and-twenty  years'  tender- 
ness !  is  this  the  return  to  your  poor,  poor  Arabella  1 " 

"  Don't  cry  too  much,  poor  Arabella,"  the  other  said  (with  ever 
so  little  of  a  grin) ;  "  she  only  won't  see  you,  because  she  says  you 
don't  nurse  her  as  well  as  I  do.  It's  no  pleasure  to  me  to  sit  up 
all  night.     I  wish  you  might  do  it  instead." 

"  Have  I  not  tended  that  dear  couch  for  years  ? "  Arabella  said, 
"and  now " 

"  Now  she  prefers  somebody  else.  "Well,  sick  people  have  these 
fancies,  and  must  be  humoured.     When  she's  well  I  shall  go." 

"Never,  never,"  Arabella  exclaimed,  madly  inhaling  her  salts- 
bottle. 

"Never  be  well  or  never  go,  Miss  Briggs T'  the  other  said,  with 
the  same  provoking  good-nature.  "Pooh — she  will  be  well  in  a 
fortnight,  when  I  shall  go  back  to  my  little  pupils  at  Queen's 
Crawley,  and  to  their  mother,  who  is  a  great  deal  more  sick  than 
our  friend.  You  need  not  be  jealous  about  mc.  my  dear  Miss  Briggs. 
I  am  a  poor  little  girl  without  any  friends,  or  any  harm  in  me.  I 
don't  want  to  supplant  you  in  Miss  Crawley's  good  graces.  She  will 
forget  me  a  week  after  I  am  gone  :  and  her  affection  for  you  has  been 
the  work  of  years.  Give  me  a  little  wine  if  you  please,  my  dear 
Miss  Briggs,  and  let  us  be  friends.     I'm  sure  I  want  friends." 

The  placable  and  soft-hearted  Briggs  speechlessly  pushed  out  her 
hand  at  this  appeal ;  but  she  felt  the  desertion  most  keenly  for  all 
that,  and  bitterly,  bitterly  moaned  the  fickleness  of  her  Matilda.  At 
the  end  of  half-an-hour,  the  meal  over.  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  (for  such, 
astonishing  to  state,  is  the  name  of  her  who  has  been  described 
ingeniously  as  "the  person"  hitherto)  went  upstairs  again  to  her 
patient's  rooms,  from  which,  with  the  most  engaging  politeness,  she 
eliminated  poor  Firkin.  "  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Firkin,  that  will  quite 
do ;  how  nicely  you  make  it !  J  will  ring  when  anything  is  wanted." 
"  Thank  you ; "  and  Firkin  came  downstairs  in  a  tempest  of  jealousy, 
only  the  more  dangerous  because  she  was  forced  to  confine  it  in  her 
own  bosom. 

Could  it  be  the  tempest  which,  as  she  passed  the  landing  of  the 
first  floor,  blew  open  the  drawing-room  door  ?  No ;  it  was  stealthily 
opened  by  the  hand  of  Bri!;;^s.  Briggs  had  been  on  the  watch. 
Briggs  too  well  heard  the  creaking  Firkin  descend  the  stairs,  and  the 
clink  of  the  spoon  and  gruel-basin  the  neglected  female  carried. 


122  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Well,  Firkin  1 "  says  she,  as  the  other  entered  the  apartment. 
"WeU,  Jane?" 

"  Wuss  and  wuss,  Miss  B.,"  Firkin  said,  wagging  her  head. 

"Is  she  not  better  then?" 

"  She  never  spoke  but  once,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  felt  a  little 
more  easy,  and  she  told  me  to  hold  my  stupid  tongue.  Oh,  Miss  B., 
I  never  thought  to  have  seen  this  day ! "  And  the  water-works 
again  began  to  play. 

"What  sort  of  a  person  is  this  Miss  Sharp,  Firkin?  I  little 
thought,  while  enjoying  my  Christmas  revels  in  the  elegant  home  of  my 
firm  friends,  the  Reverend  Lionel  Delamere  and  his  amiable  lady,  to 
find  a  stranger  had  taken  my  place  in  the  aflfections  of  my  dearest,  my 
still  dearest  Matilda  ! "  Miss  Briggs,  it  will  be  seen  by  her  language, 
was  of  a  literary  and  sentimental  turn,  and  had  once  published  a 
volume  of  poems — "  Trills  of  the  Nightingale  " — by  subscription. 

"Miss  B.,  they  are  aU  infatyated  about  that  young  woman," 
Firkin  replied.  "  Sir  Pitt  wouldn't  have  let  her  go,  but  he  daredn't 
refuse  Miss  Crawley  anything.  Mrs.  Bute  at  the  Rectory  jist  as 
bad — never  happy  out  of  her  sight.  The  Capting  quite  wild  about 
her.  Mr.  Crawley  mortial  jealous.  Since  Miss  C.  was  took  ill,  she 
won't  have  nobody  near  her  but  Miss  Sharp,  I  can't  tell  for  where 
nor  for  why ;  and  I  think  somethink  has  bewidged  everybody." 

Rebecca  passed  that  night  in  constant  watching  upon  Miss 
Crawley;  the  next  night  the  old  lady  slept  so  comfortably,  that 
Rebecca  had  time  for  several  hours'  comfoi-table  repose  herself  on  the 
sofa,  at  the  foot  of  her  patroness's  bed ;  very  soon.  Miss  Crawley  was 
so  well  that  she  sat  up  and  laughed  heartily  at  a  perfect  imitation  of 
Miss  Briggs  and  her  grief,  which  Rebecca  described  to  her.  Briggs' 
weeping  snuffle,  and  her  manner  of  using  the  handkerchief,  were  so 
completely  rendered,  that  Miss  Crawley  became  quite  cheerful,  to  the 
admiration  of  the  doctors  when  they  visited  her,  who  usually  found 
this  worthy  woman  of  the  world,  when  the  least  sickness  attacked 
her,  imder  the  most  abject  depression  and  terror  of  death. 

Captain  Crawley  came  every  day,  and  received  bulletins  from 

Mi^   Rebecca   respecting   his  aunt's   health.      This   improved   so 

rapidly,  that  poor  Briggs  was  allowed  to  see  her  patroness;  and 

;  persons  with  tender  hearts  may  imagine  the  smothered  emotions  of 

K^that  sentimental  female,  and  the  affecting  nature  of  the  interview. 

Miss  Crawley  Hked  to  have  Briggs  in  a  good  deal  soon.  Rebecca 
used  to  mimic  her  to  her  face  with  the  most  admirable  gravity,  thereby 
rendering  the  imitation  doubly  piquant  to  her  worthy  patroness. 

The  causes  which  had  led  to  the  deplorable  illness  of  Miss  Crawley, 
and  her  departure  from  her  brother's  house  in  the  country,  were  of 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  123 

such  an  unromantic  nature  that  they  are  hardly  fit  to  be  explained 
in  this  genteel  and  sentimental  novel.  For  how  is  it  possible  to 
hint  of  a  delicate  female,  living  in  good  society,  that  she  ate  and 
drank  too  much,  and  that  a  hot  supper  of  lobsters  profusely  enjoyed 
at  the  Rectory  was  the  reason  of  an  indisposition  which  Miss  Crawley 
herself  persisted  was  solely  attributable  to  the  dampness  of  the 
weather  1  The  attack  was  so  sharp  that  Matilda — as  his  Reverence 
expressed  it — was  very  nearly  "  off  the  hooks ; "  all  the  family  were 
in  a  fever  of  expectation  regarding  the  will,  and  Rawdon  Crawley 
was  making  sure  of  at  least  forty  thousand  pounds  before  the  com- 
mencement of  the  London  season.  Mr.  Crawley  sent  over  a  choice 
parcel  of  tracts,  to  prepare  her  for  the  change  from  Vanity  Fair  and 
Park  Lane  for  another  world ;  but  a  good  doctor  from  Southampton 
being  called  in  in  time,  vanquished  the  lobster  which  was  so  nearly 
fatal  to  her,  and  gave  her  sufficient  strength  to  enable  her  to  return 
to  London.  The  Baronet  did  not  disguise  his  exceeding  mortification 
at  the  turn  which  affairs  took. 

While  everybody  was  attending  on  Miss  Crawley,  and  messengers 
every  hour  from  the  Rectory  were  carrying  news  of  her  health  to  the 
aff'ectionate  folks  there,  there  was  a  lady  in  another  part  of  the  house, 
being  exceedingly  ill,  of  whom  no  one  took  any  notice  at  all ;  and 
this  was  the  lady  of  Crawley  herself  The  good  doctor  shook  his 
head  after  seeing  her ;  to  which  visit  Sir  Pitt  consented,  as  it  could 
be  paid  without  a  fee  ;  and  she  was  left  fading  away  in  her  lonely 
chamber,  with  no  more  heed  paid  to  her  than  to  a  weed  in  the 
park. 

The  young  ladies,  too,  lost  much  of  the  inestimable  benefit  of 
their  governess's  instruction.  So  affectionate  a  nurse  was  Miss  Sharp, 
that  Miss  Crawley  would  take  her  medicines  from  no  other  hand. 
Firkin  had  been  deposed  long  before  her  mistress's  departure  from 
the  country.  That  faithful  attendant  found  a  gloomy  consolation  on 
returning  to  London,  in  seeing  Miss  Briggs  suffer  the  same  pang-s 
of  jealousy  and  undergo  the  same  faithless  treatment  to  which  she 
herself  had  been  subject. 

Captain  Rawdon  got  an  extension  of  leave  on  his  aunt's  illness, 
and  remained  dutifully  at  home.  He  was  always  in  he]-  antechamber. 
(She  lay  sick  in  the  state  bedroom,  into  which  you  entered  by  the 
little  blue  saloon.)  His  father  was  always  meeting  him  there ;  or 
if  he  came  down  the  corridor  ever  so  quietly,  his  father's  door  was 
sure  to  open,  and  the  hyaena  face  of  the  old  gentleman  to  glare  out. 
What  was  it  set  one  to  watch  the  other  so  ?  A  generous  rivalry,  no 
doubt,  as  to  which  should  be  most  attentive  to  the  dear  sufferer  in 
the  state  bedroom.  Rebecca  used  to  come  out  and  comfort  both  of 
them ;  or  one  or  the  other  of  them  rather.     Both  of  these  worthy 


/ 


124  VANITY    FAIR 

gentlemen  were  most  anxious  to  have  news  of  the  invalid  from  her 
little  confidential  messenger. 

At  dinner — to  which  meal  she  descended  for  half-an-hour — she 
kept  the  peace  between  them  :  after  which  she  disappeared  for  the 
night ;  when  Rawdon  would  ride  over  to  the  depot  of  the  150th  at 
Mudbury,  leaving  his  papa  to  the  society  of  Mr.  Horrocks  and  his 
rum  and  water.  She  passed  as  weary  a  fortnight  as  ever  mortal 
spent  in  Miss  Crawley's  sick-room ;  but  her  little  nerves  seemed  to 
be  of  iron,  as  she  was  quite  unshaken  by  the  duty  and  the  tedium 
of  the  sick-chamber. 

She  never  told  until  long  afterwards  how  painful  that  duty  was ; 
how  peevish  a  patient  was  the  jovial  old  lady  ;  how  angry ;  how 
sleepless ;  in  what  horrors  of  death ;  during  what  long  nights  she 
lay  moaning,  and  in  almost  delirious  agonies  respecting  that  future 
world  which  she  quite  ignored  when  she  was  in  good  health. — Picture  ^ 

to  yourself,  oh  fair  young  reader,  a  worldly,  selfish,  graceless,  thank-  4 
less,  religionless  old  woman,  writhing  in  pain  and  fear,  and  without  *j^ 
her  wig.  Picture  her  to  yourself,  and  ere  you  be  old,  learn  to  lover j^  y* 
and  pray.  J^ 

Sharp  watched  this  graceless  bedside  with  indomitable  patience.  ^  . 
Nothing  escaped  her ;  and,  like  a  prudent  steward,  she  found  a  use  ■  \y 
for  everything.  She  told  many  a  good  story  about  Miss  Crawley's 
illness  in  after  days, — stories  which  made  the  lady  blush  through 
her  artificial  carnations.  During  the  illness  she  was  never  out  of 
temper ;  always  alert ;  she  slept  light,  having  a  perfectly  clear 
conscience ;  and  could  take  that  refreshment  at  almost  any  minute's 
warning.  And  so  you  saw  very  few  traces  of  fatigue  in  her  appear- 
ance. Her  face  might  be  a  trifle  paler,  and  the  circles  round  her 
eyes  a  little  blacker  than  usual ;  but  whenever  she  came  out  from  the 
sick-room  she  was  always  smiling,  fresh  and  neat,  and  looked  as  trim 
in  her  little  dressing-gown  and  cap,  as  in  her  smartest  evening  suit. 

The  Captain  thought  so,  and  raved  about  her  in  uncouth  con- 
vulsions. The  barbed  shaft  of  love  had  penetrated  his  dull  hide. 
Six  weeks — appropinquity — opportunity — had  victimised  him  com- 
pletely. He  made  a  confidante  of  his  aunt  at  the  Rectory,  of  all 
persons  in  the  world.  She  rallied  him  about  it ;  she  had  perceived 
his  folly ;  she  warned  him ;  she  finished  by  owning  that  little  Sharp 
was  the  most  clever,  droll,  odd,  good-natured,  simple,  kindly  creature 
in  England.  Rawdon  must  not  trifle  with  her  affections,  though — 
dear  Miss  Crawley  would  never  pardon  him  for  that ;  for  she,  too, 
was  quite  overcome  by  the  little  governess,  and  loved  Sharp  like  a-  \^  . 
daughter.  Rawdon  must  g(j  away — go  back  to  his  regiment  and 
naughty  London,  and  not  play  with  a  poor  artless  girl's  feelings. 

Many  and  many  a  time  tliis  good-natured  lady,  compiissionating 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HEEO  125 

the  forlorn  life-guardsman's  condition,  gave  him  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  Miss  Sharp  at  the  Rectory,  and  of  walking  home  with  her,  as 
we  have  seen.  When  men  of  a  certain  sort,  ladies,  are  in  love,  though 
they  see  the  hook  and  the  string,  an^  the  whole  apparatus  with  which 
they  are  to  be  taken,  they  gorge  the  bait  nevertheless — they  must 
come  to  it — they  must  swallow  it — and  are  presently  struck  and 
landed  gasping.  Rawdon  saw  there  was  a  manifest  intention  on  Mrs.  "1 
Bute's  part  to  captivate  him  with  Rebecca.  He  was  not  very  wise ;  J 
but  he  was  a  man  about  town,  and  had  seen  several  seasons.  A 
light  dawned  upon  his  dusky  soul,  as  he  thought,  through  a  speech 
of  Mrs.  Bute's. 

"  Mark  my  words,  Rawdon,"  she  said.  "  You  will  have  Miss 
Sharp  one  day  for  your  relation." 

"  What  relation, — my  cousin,  hey,  Mrs.  Bute  ?  James  sweet  on 
her,  hey  1 "  inquired  the  waggish  officer. 

"More  than  that,"  Mrs.  Bute  said,  with  a  flash  from  her  black  eyes. 

"  Not  Pitt  ? — He  shan't  have  her.  The  sneak  a'n't  worthy  of 
her.     He's  booked  to  Lady  Jane  Sheepshanks." 

"  You  men  perceive  nothing.  You  silly,  blind  creature — if  any- 
thing happens  to  Lady  Crawley,  Miss  Sharp  will  be  your^other-in- 
iaw ;  and  that's  what  will  happen." 

Rawdon  Crawley,  Esquire,  gave  vent  to  a  prodigious  whistle,  in 
token  of  astonishment  at  this  announcement.  He  couldn't  deny  it.  l\ 
His  father's  evident  liking  for  Miss  Sharp  had  not  escaped  him.  He 
knew  the  old  gentleman's  character  well ;  and  a  more  unscrupulous 
old — whyou — he  did  not  conclude  the  sentence,  but  walked  home, 
curling  his  mustachios,  and  convinced  he  had  found  a  clue  to  Mrs. 
Bute's  mystery. 

"  By  Jove,  it's  too  bad,"  thought  Rawdon,  '*  too  bad,  by  Jove  !    I 
do  believe  the  woman  wants  the  poor  girl  to  be  ruined,  in  order  that  ^L^ 
she  shouldn't  come  into  the  family  as  Lady  Crawley."  /u^*^^ 

When  he  saw  Rebecca  alone,  he  rallied  her  about  his  father's 
attachment  in  his  graceful  way.  She  flung  up  her  head  scornfully, 
looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and  said — 

"  Well,  suppose  he  is  fond  of  me.  I  know  he  is,  and  others  too. 
You  don't  think  I  am  afraid  of  him.  Captain  Crawley  ?  You  don't 
suppose  I  can't  defend  my  own  honoiu:,"  said  the  little  woman,  look- 
ing as  stately  as  a  queen. 

"  Oh,  ah,  why — give  you  fair  warning — look  out,  you  know — 
that's  all,"  said  the  mustachio-twiddler. 

"You  hint  at  something  not  honourable,  then?"  said  she, 
flashing  out. 

"Oh — Gad — really — Miss  Rebecca,"  the  heavy  dragoon  inter- 
posed. 


126  VANITY   FAIR 


I      /        "Do  you  suppose  I  have  no  feeling  of  self-respect,  because  I  am 

\   /    poor  and  friendless,  and  because  rich  people  have  none  1   Do  you  think, 

Y     because  I  am  a  governess,  I  have  not  as  much  sense,  and  feeling,  and 

/  N,    good  breeding  as  you  gentle-folks  in  Hampshire  ?    I'm  a  Montmorency. 

'        Do  you  suppose  a  Montmorency  is  not  as  good  as  a  Crawley  ? " 

When  Miss  Sharp  was  agitated,  and  alluded  to  her  maternal  rela- 
tives, she  spoke  with  ever  so  slight  a  foreign  accent,  which  gave  a 
great  charm  to  her  clear  'ringing  voice.  "  No,"  she  continued,  kind- 
ling as  she  spoke  to  the  Captain ;  "  I  can  endure  poverty,  but  not 
shame — neglect,  but  not  insult ;  and  insult  from — from  you.^^ 
Her  feelings  gave  way,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 
"Hang  it,  Miss  Sharp — Rebecca — by  Jove — upon  my  soul,  I 
wouldn't  for  a  thousand  pounds.     Stop,  Rebecca  !  " 

She  was  gone.  She  drove  out  with  Miss  Crawley  that  day.  It 
was  before  the  latter's  illness.  At  dinner  she  was  unusually  brilliant 
and  lively ;  but  she  would  take  no  notice  of  the  hints,  or  the  nods,  or 
the  clumsy  expostulations  of  the  humiliated,  infatuated  guardsman. 
Skirmishes  of  this  sort  passed  perpetually  during  the  little  campaign 
— tedious  to  relate,  and  similar  in  result.  The  Crawley  heavy  cavalry 
was  maddened  by  defeat,  and  routed  every  day. 

If  the  Baronet  of  Queen's  Crawley  had  not  had  the  fear  of  losing 
his  sister's  legacy  before  his  eyes,  he  never  would  have  permitted  his 
dear  girls  to  lose  the  educational  blessings  which  their  invaluable 
governess  was  conferring  upon  them.  The  old  house  at  home  seemed 
a  desert  without  her,  so  useful  and  pleasant  had  Rebecca  made  herself 
there.  Sir  Pitt's  letters  were  not  copied  and  corrected  ;  his  books 
not  made  up ;  his  household  business  and  manifold  schemes  neglected, 
now  that  his  little  secretary  was  away.  And  it  was  easy  to  see  how 
necessary  such  an  amanuensis  was  to  him,  by  the  tenor  and  spelling 
of  the  numerous  letters  which  he  sent  to  her,  entreating  her  and  com- 
manding her  to  return.  Almost  every  day  brought  a  frank  from  the 
Baronet,  enclosing  the  most  urgent  prayers  to  Becky  for  her  return, 
or  conveying  pathetic  statements  to  Miss  Crawley,  regarding  the 
neglected  state  of  his  daughters'  education ;  of  which  documents  Miss 
Crawley  took  very  little  heed. 

Miss  Briggs  was  not  formally  dismissed,  but  her  place  as  com- 
panion was  a  sinecure  and  a  derision ;  and  her  company  was  the  fat 
spaniel  in  the  drawing-room,  or  occasionally  the  discontented  Firkin 
in  the  housekeeper's  closet.  Nor  though  the  old  lady  would  by  no 
means  hear  of  Rebecca's  departure,  was  the  latter  regularly  installed 
in  office  in  Park  Lane.  Like  many  wealthy  people,  it  was  Miss 
Crawley's  habit  to  accept  as  much  service  as  she  could  get  from  her 
inferiors ;  and  good-naturedly  to  take  leave  of  them  when  she  no  longer 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  127 

found  them  useful.     Gratitude  amon^  certain  rich  folks  is  scarcely  |J 
natural  or  to  be  thought  of.     They  take  needy  people's  services  as  h 
their  due.     Nor  have  you,  0  poor  parasite  and  humble  hanger-on,  " 
much  reason  to  complain !     Your  friendship  for  Dives  is  about  as 
sincere  as  the  retui-n  which  it  usually  gets.     It^i^  money  you  love,  and 
jio^JJie  jnaji ;  and  were  Croesus  and  his  footman  to  change  places,  you 
know,  you  poor  rogue,  who  would  have  the  benefit  of  your  allegiance. 

And  I  am  not  sure,  that,  in  spite  of  Rebecca's  simplicity  and 
activity,  and  gentleness  and  untiring  good  humour,  the  shrewd  old 
London  lady,  upon  whom  these  treasures  of  friendship  were  lavished, 
had  not  a  lurking  suspicion  all  the  while  of  her  affectionate  nurse  and 
friend.     It  must  have  often  crossed  Miss  Crawley's  mind  that  nobody^ 
does  any1;hing  for  nothing.     If  she  measured  her  own  feeling  towards  I 
the  world,  she  must  have  been  pretty  well  able  to  gauge  those  of  V 
the  world  towards  herself ;  and  perhaps  she  reflected,  that  it  is  / 
the  ordinary  lot  of  people  to  have  no  friends  if  they  themselves  care  ( 
for  nobody.  J 

Well,  meanwhile  Becky  was  the  greatest  comfort  and  convenience 
to  her,  and  she  gave  her  a  couple  of  new  gowns,  and  an  old  necklace 
and  shawl,  and  showed  her  friendship  by  abusing  all  her  intimate 
acquaintances  to  her  new  confidante  (than  which  there  can't  be  a  more 
touching  proof  of  regard),  and  meditated  vaguely  some  great  future 
benefit — to  marry  her  perhaps  to  Clump,  the  apothecary,  or  to  settle 
her  in  some  advantageous  way  of  life ;  or  at  any  rate,  to  send  her 
back  to  Queen's  Crawley  when  she  had  done  with  her,  and  the  full 
London  season  had  begun. 

When  Miss  Crawley  was  convalescent  and  descended  to  the 
drawing-room,  Becky  sang  to  her,  and  otherwise  amused  her ;  when 
she  was  well  enough  to  drive  out,  Becky  accompanied  her.  And 
amongst  the  drives  which  they  took,  whither,  of  all  places  in  the  world, 
did  Miss  Crawley's  admirable  good-nature  and  friendship  actually 
induce  her  to  penetrate,  but  to  Russell  Square,  Bloomsbury,  and 
the  house  of  John  Sedley,  Esquire. 

Ere  that  event,  many  notes  had  passed,  as  may  be  imagined, 
between  the  two  dear  friends.  During  the  months  of  Rebecca's 
stay  in  Hampshire,  the  eternal  friendship  had  (must  it  be  owned  1) 
suffered  considerable  diminution,  and  grown  so  decrepit  and  feeble 
with  old  age  as  to  threaten  demise  altogether.  The  fact  is,  both 
girls  had  their  own  real  affairs  to  think  of:  Rebecca  her  advance 
with  her  employers — Amelia  her  own  absorbing  topic.  When  the 
two  girls  met,  and  flew  into  each  other's  arms  with  that  impetuosity 
which  distinguishes  the  behaviour  of  young  ladies  towards  each 
other,  Rebecca  performed  her  part  of  the  embrace  with  the  most 
perfect  briskness  and  energy.  Poor  little  Amelia  blushed  as  she 
12 


izS  VANITY    FAIR 

kissed  her  friend,  and  thought  she  had  been  guilty  of  something 
very  Hke  coldness  towards  her. 

Their  first  interview  was  but  a  very  short  one.  Amelia  was 
just  ready  to  go  out  for  a  walk.  Miss  Crawley  was  waiting  in  her 
carriage  below,  her  people  wondering  at  the  locality  in  which  they 
found  themselves,  and  gazing  upon  honest  Sambo,  the  black  footman 
of  Bloomsbury,  as  one  of  the  queer  natives  of  the  place.  But  when 
Amelia  came  down  with  her  kind  smiling  looks  (Rebecca  must  intro- 
duce her  to  her  friend.  Miss  Crawley  was  longing  to  see  her,  and  was 
too  ill  to  leave  her  carriage) — when,  I  say,  Ameha  came  down,  the 
Park  Lane  shoulder-knot  aristocracy  wondered  more  and  more  that 
such  a  thing  could  come  out  of  Bloomsbury ;  and  Miss  Crawley  was 
fairly  captivated  by  the  sweet  blushing  face  of  the  young  lady  who 
came  forward  so  timidly  and  so  gracefully  to  pay  her  respects  to 
the  protector  of  her  friend. 

"  What  a  complexion,  my  dear  !  What  a  sweet  voice  !  "  Miss 
Crawley  said,  as  they  drove  away  westward  after  the  little  interview. 
"  My  dear  Sharp,  your  young  friend  is  charming.  Send  for  her  to 
Park  Lane,  do  you  hear  1 "  Miss  Crawley  had  a  good  taste.  She 
liked  natural  manners — a  little  timidity  only  set  them  off.  She 
liked  pretty  faces  near. .her;  as  she  liked  pretty  pictures  and  nice_ 
china.  She  talked  of  Amelia  with  rapture  half-a-dozen  times  that 
day.  She  mentioned  her  to  Rawdon  Crawley,  who  came  dutifully 
to  partake  of  his  aunt's  chicken. 

Of  course,  on  this  Rebecca  instantly  stated  that  Amelia  was 
engaged  to  be  married — to  a  Lieutenant  Osborne— a  very  old  flame. 

"  Is  he  a  man  in  a  line-regiment  1 "  Captain  Crawley  asked, 
remembering  after  an  effort,  as  became  a  guardsman,  the  number  of 
the  regiment,  the  — th. 

Rebecca  thought  that  was  the  regiment.  "The  Captain's 
name,"  she  said,  "  was  Captain  Dobbin." 

"  A  lanky  gawky  fellow,"  said  Crawley,  "  tumbles  over  every- 
body. I  know  him ;  and  Osborne's  a  goodish-looking  fellow,  with 
large  black  whiskers  1 " 

"  Enormous,"  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  said,  "  and  enormously  proud 
of  them,  I  assure  you." 

C.iptain  Rawdon  Crawley  burst  into  a  horse-laugh  by  way  of 
reply ;  and  being  pressed  by  the  ladies  to  explain,  did  so  when  the 
explosion  of  hilarity  was  over.  "  He  fancies  he  can  play  at  billiards," 
said  he.  "  I  won  two  hundred  of  him  at  the  Cocoa-Tree.  Re  play, 
the  young  flat !  He'd  have  played  for  anything  that  day,  but  his 
friend  Captain  Dobbin  carried  him  off,  hang  him  ! " 

"  Rawdon,  Rawdon,  don't  be  so  wicked,"  Miss  Crawley  remarked, 
highly  pleased. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  129 

"Why,  ma'am,  of  all  the  young  fellows  I've  seen  out  of  the 
line,  I  think  this  fellow's  the  greenest.     Tarquin  and  Deuceace  get 
what  money  they  like  out  of  him.     He'd  go  to  the  deuce  to  be  seen  X 
with  a  lord.     He  pays  their  dinners  at  Greenwich,  and  they  invite 
the  company." 

"And  very  pretty  company  too,  I  dare  say." 

"  Quite  right,  Miss  Sharp.  Right,  as  usual,  Miss  Sharp.  Un- 
common pretty  company, — haw,  haw ! "  and  the  Captain  laughed 
more  and  more,  thinking  he  had  made  a  good  joke. 

"  Rawdon,  don't  be  naughty  !  "  his  aunt  e-xclaimed. 

"Well,  liis  father's  a  City  man — immensely  rich,  they  say. 
Hang  those  City  fellows,  they  must  bleed ;  and  I've  not  done  with 
him  yet,  I  can  tell  you.     Haw,  haw ! " 

"  Fie,  Captain  Crawley ;  I  shall  warn  Amelia.  A  gambling 
husband ! " 

"  Horrid,  ain't  he,  hey  ? "  the  Captain  said  with  great  solemnity 
and  then  added,  a  sudden  thought  having  struck  him  :  "  Gad,  I  say, 
ma'am,  we'll  have  him  here." 

"  Is  he  a  presentable  sort  of  a  person  ? "  the  aunt  inquired. 

"Presentable? — oh,  very  well.  You  wouldn't  see  any  differ- 
ence," Captain  Crawley  answered.  "  Do  let's  have  him,  when  you 
begin  to  see  a  few  people ;  and  his  whatdyecallem — his  inamorato — 
eh.  Miss  Sharp;  that's  what  you  call  it — comes.  Gad,  I'll  write 
him  a  note,  and  have  him ;  and  I'll  try  if  he  can  play  piquet  as  well 
as  billiards.     Where  does  he  live.  Miss  Sharp  1 " 

Miss  Sharp  told  Crawley  the  Lieutenant's  town  address ;  and  a 
few  days  after  this  conversation.  Lieutenant  Osborne  received  a 
letter,  in  Captain  Rawdon's  school-boy  hand,  and  enclosing  a  note  of 
invitation  from  Miss  Crawley. 

Rebecca  despatched  also  an  invitation  to  her  darling  Amelia, 
who,  you  may  be  sure,  was  ready  enough  to  accept  it  when  she  heard 
that  George  was  to  be  of  the  party.     It  was  arranged  that  Amelia 
was  to  spend  the  morning  with  the  ladies  of  Park  Lane,  where  all 
were  very  kind  to  her.     Rebecca  patronised  her  with  calm  supe- 
riority :  she  was  so  much  the  cleverer  of  the  two,  and  her  friend  so 
gentle  and  unassuming,  that  she  always  yielded  when  anybody  chose  J 
to  command,  and  so  took  Rebecca's  orders  with  perfect  meekness  and 
good-humour.     Miss  Crawley's  graciousness  was  also  remarkable. 
She  continued  her  raptures  about  little  Amelia,  talked  about  her 
before  her  face  as  if  she  were  a  doll,  or  a  servant,  x)r  a  pictureJ^Nand  \ 
admired  her  with  the  most  benevolent  wonder  possible.     I  admire  ' 
tjiat  admiration  which  the  genteel  world  sometimes  extends  to  the 
commonalfy;     TFere  is  no  more  agreeable  object  in  life  than  to  see 
May  Fair  folks  condescending.     Miss  Crawley's  prodigious  benevo. 


130  VANITY   FAIR 

lence  rather  fatigued  poor  little  Amelia,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  of 
the  three  ladies  in  Park  Lane  she  did  not  find  honest  Miss  Briggs  the 
most  agreeable.  She  sympathised  with  Briggs  as  with  all  neglected 
or  gentle  people  :  she  wasn't  what  you  call  a  woman  of  spirit. 

George  came  to  dinner — a  repast  en  garQon  with  Captain 
Crawley. 

The  great  family  coach  of  the  Osbomes  transported  him  to  Park 
Lane  from  Russell  Square ;  where  the  young  ladies,  who  were  not 
themselves  invited,  and  professed  the  greatest  indifference  at  that 
slight,  nevertheless  looked  at  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's  name  in  the  baronet- 
age; and  learned  everything  which  that  work  had  to  teach  about 
the  Crawley  family  and  their  pedigree,  and  the  Binkies,  their  rela- 
tives, &c.  &c.  Rawdon  Crawley  received  George  Osborne  with 
great  frankness  and  graciousness  :  praised  his  play  at  billiards  :  asked 
him  when  he  would  have  his  revenge  :  was  interested  about  Osborne's 
regiment :  and  would  have  proposed  piquet  to  him  that  very  evening, 
but  Miss  Crawley  absolutely  forbade  any  gambling  in  her  house ;  so 
that  the  young  Lieutenant's  purse  was  not  lightened  by  his  gallant 
patron,  for  that  day  at  least.  However,  they  made  an  engagement 
for  the  next,  somewhere  :  to  look  at  a  horse  that  Crawley  had  to  sell, 
and  to  try  him  in  the  Park ;  and  to  dine  together,  and  to  pass  the 
evening  with  some  jolly  fellows.  "  That  is,  if  you're  not  on  duty 
to  that  pretty  Miss  Sedley,"  Crawley  said,  with  a  knowing  wink. 
"Monstrous  nice  girl,  'pon  my  honour,  though,  Osborne,"  he  was 
good  enough  to  add.     "  Lots  of  tin,  I  suppose,  eh  1 " 

Osborne  wasn't  on  duty ;  he  would  join  Crawley  with  pleasure : 
and  the  latter,  when  they  met  the  next  day,  praised  his  new  friend's 
horsemanship — as  he  might  with  perfect  honesty — and  introduced 
him  to  three  or  four  young  men  of  the  first  fashion,  whose  acquaint- 
ance immensely  elated  the  simple  young  officer. 

"  How's  little  Miss  Sharp,  by-the-bye  1 "  Osborne  inquired  of  his 
friend  over  their  wine,  with  a  dandified  air.  "  Good-natured  little 
girl  that.  Does  she  suit  you  well  at  Queen's  Crawley^  Miss 
Sedley  liked  her  a  good  deal  last  year." 

Captain  Crawley  looked  savagely  at  the  Lieutenant  out  of  his     ) 
little  blue  eyes,  and  watched  feim  when  he  went  up  to  resume  his 
acquaintance  with  the  fair  governess.      Her  conduct  must  have     - 
relieved  Crawley  if  there  was  any  jealousy  in  the  bosom  of  that  ( 
life-guardsman.  \ 

When  the  young  men  went  upstairs,  and  after  Osborne's  intro- 
duction to  Miss  Crawley,  he  walked  up  to  Rebecca  with  a  patronis- 
ing, easy  swagger.  He  was  going  to  be  kind  to  her  and  protect 
her.  He  would  even  shake  hands  with  her,  as  a  friend  of  Amelia's ; 
and  sajdng,  "  Ah,  Miss  Sharp !   how-dy-doo  1 "   held  out  his  left 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  131 

hand  towards  her,  expecting  that  she  would  be  quite  confounded 
at  the  honour. 

Miss  Sharp  put  out  her  right  forefinger,  and  gave  him  a  little 
nod,  so  cool  and  killing,  that  Raw(Jjon  Crawley,  watching  the  opera- 
tions fi'om  the  other  room,  could  hardly  restrain  his  laughter  as  he 
saw  the  Lieutenant's  entire  discomfiture ;  the  start  he  gave,  the  pause, 
and  the  perfect  clumsiness  with  which  he  at  length  condescended  to 
take  the  finger  which  was  offered  for  his  embrace. 

"  She'd  beat  the  devil,  by  Jove  !  "  the  Captain  said,  in  a  rapture ; 
and  the  Lieutenant,  by  way  of  beginning  the  conversation,  agreeably 
asked  Rebecca  how  she  liked  her  new  place. 

"  My  place  1 "  said  Miss  Sharp  coolly,  "  how  kind  of  you  to  remind 
me  of  it !  It's  a  tolerably  good  place  :  the  wages  are  pretty  good — ■ 
not  so  good  as  Miss  Wirt's,  I  believe,  with  yoiu-  sisters  in  Russell 
SquarCo     How  are  those  young  ladies  ? — not  that  I  ought  to  ask." 

"  Why  not  1 "  Mr.  Osborne  said,  amazed. 

"  Why,  they  never  condescended  to  speak  to  me,  or  to  ask  me 
into  their  house,  whilst  I  was  staying  with  Amelia;  but  we  poor 
governesses,  you  know,  are  used  to  slights  of  this  sort." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Sharp  !  "  Osborne  ejaculated. 

"At  least  in  some  families,"  Rebecca  continued.  "You  can't 
think  what  a  difference  there  is,  though.  We  are  not  so  wealthy  in 
Hampshire  as  you  lucky  folks  of  the  City.  But  then  I  am  in  a 
gentleman's  family — good  old  English  stock.  I  suppose  you  know 
Sir  Pitt's  father  refused  a  peerage.  And  you  see  how  I  am  treated. 
I  am  pretty  comfortable.  Indeed  it  is  rather  a  good  place.  But 
how  very  good  of  you  to  inquire  ! " 

Osborne  was  quite  savage.  The  little  governess  patron^ed  him 
and  persi^ed  him  until  this  young  British  Lion  felt  quite  uneasy ; 
iior  could  he  muster  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  find  a  pretext  for 
backing  out  of  this  most  delectable  conversation. 

"I  thought  you  liked  the  City  families  pretty  well,"  he  said 
haughtily. 

"  Last  year  you  mean,  when  I  was  fi-esh  from  that  horrid  vulgar 
school  1  Of  course  I  did.  Doesn't  every  girl  like  to  come  home  for 
the  holidays  1  And  how  was  I  to  know  any  better  ?  But  oh,  Mr. 
Osborne,  what  a  difference  eighteen  months'  experience  makes ! — 
eighteen  months  spent,  pardon  me  for  saying  so,  with  gentlemen. 
As  for  dear  Amelia,  she,  I  grant  you,  is  a  pearl,  and  would  be  charm- 
ing anywhere.  There  now,  I  see  you  are  beginning  to  be  in  a  good 
humour ;  but  oh  these  queer  odd  City  people  !  And  Mr.  Jos — how 
is  that  wonderful  Mr.  Joseph  1 " 

"It  seems  to  me  you  didn't  dislike  that  wonderful  Mr.  Joseph 
last  year,"  Osborne  said  kindly. 


132  VANITY    FAIR 

"  How  severe  of  you  !  Well,  entre  nous,  I  didn't  break  my  heart 
about  him ;  yet  if  he  had  asked  me  to  do  what  you  mean  by  your 
looks  (and  very  expressive  and  kind  they  are,  too),  I  wouldn't  have 
said  no." 

Mr.  Osborne  gave  a  look  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Indeed,  how  very 
obliging ! " 

"  What  an  honour  to  have  had  you  for  a  brother-in-law,  you  are 
thinking?  To  be  sister-in-law  to  George  Osborne,  Esquire,  son  of 
John  Osborne,  Esquire,  son  of — what  was  your  grandpapa,  Mr 
Osborne  1  Well,  don't  be  angry.  You  can't  help  your  pedigree,  and 
I  quite  agree  with  you  that  I  would  have  married  Mr.  Joe  Sedley ; 
for  could  a  poor  penniless  girl  do  better  1  Now  you  know  the  whole 
secret.  Fm  frank  and  open;  considering  all  things,  it  was  very 
kind  of  you  to  allude  to  the  circumstance — very  kind  and  polite. 
Amelia  dear,  Mr.  Osborne  and  I  were  talking  about  your  poor 
brother  Joseph.     How  is  he  1 " 

Thus  was  George  utterly  routed.  Not  that  Rebecca  was  in  the 
right;  but  she  had  managed  most  successfiilly  to  put  him  in  the 
wrong.  And  he  now  shamefully  fled,  feeling,  if  he  stayed  another 
minute,  that  he  would  have  been  made  to  look  foolish  in  the 
presence  of  Amelia. 

Though  Rebecca  had  had  the  better  of  him,  George  was  above 
the  meanness  of  tale-bearing  or  revenge  upon  a  lady, — only  he  could 
not  help  cleverly  confiding  to  Captain  Crawley,  next  day,  some 
notions  of  his  regarding  Miss  Rebecca — that  she  was  a  sharp  one, 
a  dangerous  one,  a  desperate  flirt,  &c. ;  in  all  of  which  opinions 
Crawley  agreed  laughingly,  and  with  every  one  of  which  Miss 
Rebecca  was  made  acquainted  before  twenty-four  hours  were  over. 
They  added  to  her  original  regard  for  Mr.  Osborne.  Her  woman's' 
instinct  had  told  her,  that  it  was  George  who  had  interrupted  the  suc- 
cess of  her  first  love-passage,  and  she  esteemed  him  accordingly. 

"  I  only  just  warn  you,"  he  said  to  Rawdon  Crawley,  with  a 
knowing  look — he  had  bought  the  horse,  and  lost  some  score  of 
guineas  after  dinner,  "I  just  warn  you — I  know  women,  and 
counsel  you  to  be  on  the  look-out." 

"  Thank  you,  my  boy,"  said  Crawley,  with  a  look  of  peculiar 
gratitude.  "You're  wide  awake,  I  see."  And  George  went  off, 
thinking  Crawley  was  quite  right. 

He  told  Amelia  of  what  he  had  done,  and  how  he  had  counselled 
Rawdon  Crawley — a  devilish  good,  straightforward  fellow — to  be  on 
his  guard  against  that  little  sly,  scheming  Rebecca. 

"  Against  whom  ?  "  Amelia  cried. 

"  Your  friend  the  governess. — Don't  look  so  astonished." 

"0  George,  what  have  you  done?"    Amelia  said.     For  her 


3 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  133 

woman's  eyes,  which  Love  had  made  sharp-sighted,  had  in  one 
instant  discovered  a  secret  which  was  invisible  to  Miss  Crawley,  to 
poor  virgin  Briggs,  and  above  all,  to  the  stupid  peepers  of  that 
young  whiskered  prig.  Lieutenant  psborae. 

For  as  Rebecca  was  shawling  her  in  an  upper  apartment,  where 
these  two  friends  had  an  opportunity  for  a  little  of  that  secret  talk- 
ing and  conspiring  which  forms  the  delight  of  female  life,  Amelia, 
coming  up  to  Rebecca,  and  taking  her  two  little  hands  in  hers,  said, 
"  Rebecca,  I  see  it  all." 

Rebecca  kissed  her. 

And  regarding  this  delightful  secret,  not  one  syllable  more  was 
said  by  either  of  the  young  women.  But  it  was  destined  to  come 
out  before  long. 

Some  short  period  after  the  above  events,  and  Miss  Rebecca 
Sharp  still  remaining  at  her  patroness's  house  in  Park  Lane,  one 
more  hatchment  might  have  been  seen  in  Great  Gaunt  Street, 
figuring  amongst  the  many  which  usually  ornament  that  dismal 
quarter.  It  was  over  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's  house  ;  but  it  did  not  in- 
dicate the  worthy  baronet's  demise.  It  was  a  feminine  hatchment, 
and  indeed  a  few  years  back  had  served  as  a  funeral  compliment  to 
Sir  Pitt's  ■  old  mother,  the  late  dowager  Lady  Crawley.  Its  period 
of  service  over,  the  hatchment  had  come  down  from  the  front  of  the 
house,  and  lived  in  retirement  somewhere  in  the  back  premises  of 
Sir  Pitt's  mansion.  It  reappeared  now  for  poor  Rose  Dawson.  Sir 
Pitt  was  a  widower  again.  The  arms  quartered  on  the  shield  along 
with  his  own  were  not,  to  be  sure,  poor  Rose's.  She  had  no  arms. 
But  the  cherubs  painted  on  the  scutcheon  answered  as  well  for  her 
as  for  Sir  Pitt's  mother,  and  Resurgam  was  written  under  the  coat, 
flanked  by  the  Crawley  Dove  and  Serpent.  Arms  and  Hatchments, 
Resurgam. — Here  is  an  opportunity  for  moralising  ! 

Mr.  Crawley  had  tended  that  otherwise  friendless  bedside.  She 
went  out  of  the  world  strengthened  by  such  words  and  comfort  as 
he  could  give  her.  For  many  years  his  was  the  only  kindness  she 
ever  knew ;  the  only  friendship  that  solaced  in  any  way  that  feeble, 
lonely  soul.  Her  heart  was  4e£^d  long  before  her  body.  She  had 
sold  it  to  become  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's  wife.  Mothers  and  daughters 
are  making  the  same  bargain  every  day  in  Vanity  Fair. 

When  the  demise  took  place,  her  husband  was  in  London 
attending  to  some  of  his  innumerable  schemes,  and  busy  with  his 
endless  lawyers.  He  had  found  time,  nevertheless,  to  call  often  in 
Park  Lane,  and  to  despatch  many  notes  to  Rebecca,  entreating  her, 
enjoining  her,  commanding  her  to  return  to  her  young  pupils  in 
the  country,  who  were  now  utterly  without  companionship  during 
their  mother's  illness.     But  Miss  Crawley  would  not  hear  of  her 


134        *  VANITY    FAIR 

departure ;  for  though  there  was  no  lady  of  fashion  in  London  who 
would  desert  her  friends  more  complacently  as  soon  as  she  was  tired 
of  their  society,  and  though  few  tired  of  them  sooner,  yet  as  long  as 
her  engoHment  lasted  her  attachment  was  prodigious,  and  she  clung 
still  with  the  greatest  energy  to  Rebecca. 

The  news  of  Lady  Crawley's  death  provoked  no  more  grief  or 
comment  than  might  have  been  expected  in  Miss  Crawley's  family 
circle.  "I  suppose  I  must  put  off  my  party  for  the  3rd,"  Miss 
Crawley  said ;  and  added,  after  a  pause,  "  I  hope  my  brother  will 
have  the  decency  not  to  marry  again."  "What  a  confounded  rage 
Pitt  will  be  in  if  he  does,"  Rawdon  remarked,  with  his  usual  regard 
for  his  elder  brother.  Rebecca  said  nothing.  She  seemed  by  far 
the  gravest  and  most  impressed  of  the  family.  She  left  the  room 
before  Rawdon  went  away  that  day ;  but  they  met  by  chance  below, 
as  he  was  going  away  after  taking  leave,  and  had  a  parley  together. 

On  the  morrow,  as  Rebecca  was  gazing  from  the  window,  she 
startled  Miss  Crawley,  who  was  placidly  occupied  with  a  French 
novel,  by  crying  out  in  an  alarmed  tone,  "  Here's  Sir  Pitt,  ma'am  ! " 
and  the  Baronet's  knock  followed  this  announcement. 

"  My  dear,  I  can't  see  him.  I  won't  see  him.  Tell  Bowls  not 
at  home,  or  go  downstairs  and  say  I'm  too  ill  to  receive  any  one. 
My  nerves  really  won't  bear  my  brother  at  this  moment ; "  cried 
out  Miss  Crawley,  and  resumed  the  novel. 

"  She's  too  ill  to  see  you,  sir,"  Rebecca  said,  tripping  down  to 
Sir  Pitt,  who  was  preparing  to  ascend. 

"So  much  the  better,"  Sir  Pitt  answered.  "I  want  to  see 
you  J  Miss  Becky.  Come  along  a  me  into  the  parlour,"  and  they 
entered  that  apartment  together. 

"I  wawnt  you  back  at  Queen's  Crawley,  Miss,"  the  Baronet 
said,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  taking  off  his  black  gloves  and 
his  hat  with  its  great  crape  hat-band.  His  eyes  had  such  a  strange 
look,  and  fixed  upon  her  so  steadfastly,  that  Rebecca  Sharp  began 
almost  to  tremble. 

"  I  hope  to  come  soon,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  as  soon  as 
Miss  Crawley  is  better — and  return  to — to  the  dear  children." 

"  You've  said  so  these  three  months,  Becky,"  replied  Sir  Pitt, 
"  and  still  you  go  hanging  on  to  my  sister,  who'll  fling  you  off  like 
an  old  shoe,  when  she's  wore  you  out.  I  tell  you  I  want  you.  I'm 
going  back  to  the  vuneral.     Will  you  come  back  1    Yes  or  no  % " 

"  I  daren't — I  don't  think — it  would  be  right — to  be  alone — 
with  you,  sir,"  Becky  said,  seemingly  in  great  agitation. 

"  I  say  agin,  I  want  you,"  Sir  Pitt  said,  thumping  the  table. 
"I  can't  git  on  without  you.  I  didn't  see  what  it  was  till  you 
went  away.     The  house  all  goes  wrong.     It's  not  the  same  place. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       -       135 

All  my  accounts  has  got  muddled  agin.  You  must  come  back. 
Do  come  back.     Dear  Becky,  do  come." 

"  Come — as  what,  sir  *?  "  Rebecca  gasped  out. 

"  Come  as  Lady  Crawley,  if  you  like,"  the  Baronet  said,  grasp- 
ing his  crape  hat.  "  There  !  will  that  zatusfy  you  1  Come  back 
and  be  my  wife.  Your  vit  vor't.  Birth  be  hanged.  You're  as 
good  a  lady  as  ever  I  see.  You've  got  more  brains  in  your  little 
vinger  than  any  baronet's  wife  in  the  county.  Will  you  come? 
Yes  or  no  1 " 

"  0  Sir  Pitt ! "  Rebecca  said,  very  much  moved. 

"  Say  yes,  Becky,"  Sir  Pitt  continued.  "  I'm  an  old  man,  but 
a  good'n.  I'm  good  for  twenty  years.  I'll  make  you  happy,  zee 
if  I  don't.  You  shall  do  what  you  like ;  spend  what  you  like ;  and 
'av  it  all  your  own  way.  I'll  make  you  a  zettlement.  I'll  do 
everything  reg'lar.  Look  year  ! "  and  the  old  man  fell  down  on  his 
knees  and  leered  at  her  like  a  satyr. 

Rebecca  started  back,  a  picture  of  consternation.  In  the  course 
of  this  history  we  have  never  seen  her  lose  her  presence  of  mind ; 
but  she  did  now,  and  wept  some  of  the  most  genuine  tears  that  ever 
fell  from  her  eyes. 

"  O  Sir  Pitt ! "  she  said.     "  0  sir— I— I'm  married  already:' 


\p 


.    \rn    V  ON? 


<>< 


CHAPTER  XV 


-^^"'^  IN  WHICH  REBECCA'S  HUSBAND  APPEARS  FOR 

^    ^  A   SHORT  TIME 

r 

I  T"^  VERY  reader  of  a  sentimental  turn  (and  we  desire  no  other) 
'  rH  must  have  been  pleased  with  the  tableau  with  which  the  last 
*— '  act  of  our  little  drama  concluded ;  for  what  can  be  prettier 
than  an  image  of  Love  on  his  knees  before  Beauty  1 

But  when  Love  heard  that  awful  confession  from  Beauty  that 

she  was  married  already,  he  bounced  up  from  his  attitude  of  humility 

on  the  carpet,  uttering  exclamations  which  caused  poor  little  Beauty 

^o    ^to  be  more  frightened  than  she  was  when  she  made  her  avowal. 

^y^         /  "  Married ;  you're  joking,"  the  Baronet  cried,  after  the  first  explosion 

of  rage  and  wonder.     "  You're  making  vun  of  me,  Becky.     Who'd 

\  ever  go  to  marry  you  without  a  shilling  to  your  vortune  ? " 

"  Married  !  married  !  "  Rebecca  said,  in  an  agony  of  tears — 
her  voice  choking  with  emotion,  her  handkerchief  up  to  her  ready 
eyes,  fainting  against  the  mantelpiece — a  figure  of  woe  fit  to  melt 
the  most  obdurate  heart.  "0  Sir  Pitt,  dear  Sir  Pitt,  do  not  think 
me  ungrateful  for  all  your  goodness  to  me.  It  is  only  your  gene- 
rosity that  has  extorted  my  secret." 

"  Generosity  be  hanged  !  "  Sir  Pitt  roared  out.  "  Who  is  it  tu, 
then,  you're  married  ?     Where  was  it  ? " 

"  Let  me  come  back  with  you  to  the  country,  sir  !  Let  me  watch 
over  you  as  faithfully  as  ever  !  Don't,  don't  separate  me  from  dear 
Queen's  Crawley  ! ' 

"  The  feller  has  left  you,  has  he  1 "  the  Baronet  said,  beginning, 
as  he  fancied,  to  comprehend.  "Well,  Becky — come  back  if  you 
like.  You  can't  eat  your  cake  and  have  it.  Any  ways,  I  made  you 
a  vair  offer.  Coom  back  as  governess — you  shall  have  it  all  your 
own  way."  She  held  out  one  hand.  She  cried  fit  to  break  her 
heart ;  her  ringlets  fell  over  her  face,  and  over  the  marble  mantel- 
piece where  she  laid  it. 

"  So  the  rascal  ran  off,  eh  1 "  Sir  Pitt  said,  with  a  hideous 
attempt  at  consolation.     "  Never  mind,  Becky,  I'll  take  care  of  'ee." 

"  0  sir !  it  would  be  the  pride  of  my  life  to  go  back  to  Queen's 
Crawley,  and  take  care  of  the  children,  and  of  you  as  formerly,  when 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  IJ7 

you  said  you  were  pleased  with  the  services  of  your  little  Rebecca. 
When  I  think  of  what  you  have  just  offered  me,  my  heart  fills  with 
gratitude — indeed  it  does.  I  can't  be  your  wife,  sir;  let  me — let 
me  be  your  daughter  !  "  ^ 

Saying  which,  Rebecca  went  down  on  her  knees  in  a  most 
tragical  way,  and,  taking  Sir  Pitt's  homy  black  hand  between 
her  own  two  (which  were  very  pretty  and  white,  and  as  soft  as 
satin),  looked  up  in  his  face  with  an  expression  of  exquisite 
pathos  and  confidence,  when — when  the  door  opened,  and  Miss 
Crawley  sailed  in. 

Mrs.  Firkin  and  Miss  Briggs,  who  happened  by  chance  to  be  at 
the  parlour  door  soon  after  the  Baronet  and  Rebecca  entered  the 
apartment,  had  also  seen  accidentally,  through  the  keyhole,  the  old 
gentleman  prostrate  before  the  governess,  and  had  heard  the  generous 
proposal  which  he  made  her.  It  was  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when 
Mrs.  Firkin  and  Miss  Briggs  had  streamed  up  the  stairs,  had  rushed 
into  the  drawing-room  where  Miss  Crawley  was  reading  the  French 
novel,  and  had  given  that  old  lady  the  astounding  intelligence  i\\$^ 
Sir  Pitt  was  on  his  knees,  proposing  to  Miss  Sharp.  And  if  you 
calculate  the  time  for  the  above  dialogue  to  take  place — the  time  for 
Briggs  and  Firkin  to  fly  to  the  drawing-room — the  time  for  Miss 
Crawley  to  be  astonished,  and  to  drop  her  volume  of  Pigault  le 
Brun — and  the  time  for  her  to  come  downstairs — you  will  see  how 
exactly  accurate  this  history  is,  and  how  Miss  Crawley  must  have 
appeared  at  the  very  instant  when  Rebecca  had  assumed  the  attitude 
of  humility. 

"It  is  the  lady  on  the  ground,  and  not  the  gentleman,"  Miss 
Crawley  said,  with  a  look  and  voice  of  great  scorn.  "  They  told  me 
that  you  were  on  your  knees.  Sir  Pitt :  do  kneel  once  more,  and  let 
me  see  this  pretty  couple  !  "  — oorate  a 

"I  have 'thanked  Sir  P.^.*  Cr?^'^^" -^Tr—^^w^r^-nd  have  shared 
rising,  "and  have  told  him  thatAM  Joung  Person  is  there  in  all 
Crawley."  "    " 

"  Refused  him  !  "  Miss  Crawley  said,  more  bewildered  than  ever. 
Briggs  and  Firkin  at  the  door  opened  the  eyes  of  astonishment  and 
the  lips  of  wonder. 

"  Yes — refused,"  Rebecca  continued,  with  a  sad,  tearful  voice. 

"  And  am  I  to  credit  my  ears  that  you  absolutely  proposed  to 
her,  Sir  Pitt  1 "  the  old  lady  asked. 

"Ees,"  said  the  Baronet,  "I  did." 

"  l^A  she  refused  you  as  she  says  ? " 

"  Ees,"  Sir  Pitt  said,  his  features  on  a  broad  giin. 

"It  does  not  seem  to  break  your  heart,  at  any  rate,"  Miss 
Crawley  remarked. 


138  VANITY   FAIR 

"Nawt  a  bit,"  answered  Sir  Pitt,  with  a  coolness  and  good- 
humour  which  set  Miss  Crawley  almost  mad  with  bewilderment. 
That  an  old  gentleman  of  station  should  fall  on  his  knees  to  a 
penniless  governess,  and  burst  out  laughing  because  she  refused  to 
marry  him, — that  a  penniless  governess  should  refuse  a  baronet 
with  four  thousand  a  year, — these  were  mysteries  which  Miss 
Crawley  could  never  comprehend.  It  surpassed  any  complications 
of  intrigue  in  her  favourite  Pigault  le  Brun. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  it  good  sport,  brother,"  she  continued, 
groping  wildly  through  this  amazement. 

"  Vamous,"  said  Sir  Pitt.  "  Who'd  ha'  thought  it !  what  a  sly 
little  devil !  what  a  little  fox  it  waws ! "  he  muttered  to  himself, 
chuckling  with  pleasure. 

"Who'd  have  thought  what?"  cries  Miss  Crawley,  stamping 
with  her  foot.  "  Pray,  Miss  Sharp,  are  you  waiting  for  the  Prince 
Regent's  divorce,  that  you  don't  think  our  family  good  enough 
for  you?" 

"  My  attitude,^'  Rebecca  said,  "  when  you  came  in,  ma'am,  did 
not  look  as  if  I  despised  such  an  honour  as  this  good — this  noble 
man  has  deigned  to  offer  me.  Do  you  think  I  have  no  heart? 
Have  you  all  loved  me,  and  been  so  kind  to  the  poor  orphan — 
deserted — girl,  and  am  /  to  feel  nothing  ?  0  my  friends  !  0  my 
benefactors !  may  not  my  love,  my  life,  my  duty,  try  to  repay  the 
confidence  you  have  shown  me  ?  Do  you  grudge  me  even  gratitude, 
Miss  Crawley  1  It  is  too  much — my  heart  is  too  full ; "  and  she 
sank  down  in  a  chair  so  pathetically,  that  most  of  the  audience 
present  were  perfectly  melted  with  her  sadness. 

"  Whether  you  marry  me  or  not,  you're  a  good  httle  girl,  Becky, 
and  I'm  your  vriend,  mind,"  said  Sir  Pitt,  and  putting  on  his  crape- 
then,  youie  Z:-^  walked  away — greatly  to  Rebecca's  reHef;  for  it  was 
"  Let  me  comis  ba'C^'witli  you  k../~"M  to  Miss  Crawley,  and  she  had 
over  you  as  faithfully  as  ev^^y  '  ^ve. 

rutting  iiei  nanakerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  nodding  away  honest 
Briggs,  who  would  have  followed  her  upstairs,  she  went  up  to  her 
apartment;  while  Briggs  and  Miss  Crawley,  in  a  high  state  of 
excitement,  remained  to  discuss  the  strange  event,  and  Firkin,  not 
less  moved,  dived  down  into  the  kitchen  regions,  and  talked  of  it 
with  all  the  male  and  female  company  there.  And  so  impressed 
was  Mrs.  Firkin  with  the  news,  that  she  thought  proper  to  write 
off  by  that  very  night's  post,  "  with  her  humble  duty  to  Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley  and  the  family  at  the  Rectory,  and  Sir  Pitt  has  been  and 
proposed  for  to  marry  Miss  Sharp,  wherein  she  has  refused  him, 
to  the  wonder  of  all." 

The  two  ladies  in  the  dining-room  (where  worthy  Miss  Briggs 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  141 

dear  ?  Is  it  that  pretty  Miss  Sedley's  brother  1  You  said  something 
about  an  affair  with  him.  I'll  ask  him  here,  my  dear.  And  you 
shall  have  him  :  indeed  you  shall." 

"  Don't  ask  me  now,"  Rebecca ^aid.  "  You  shall  know  all  soon. 
Indeed  you  shall.  Dear  kind  Miss  Crawley — dear  friend,  may  I 
say  so  1 " 

"  That  you  may,  my  child,"  the  old  lady  replied,  kissing  her. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  now,"  sobbed  out  Rebecca ;  "  I  am  very  miser- 
able.    But  oh  !  love  me  always — promise  you  will  love  me  always."  r^ 
And  in  the  midst  of  mutual  tears — for  the  emotions  of  the  yoimger     q^ 
woman  had  awakened  the  sympathies  of  the  elder — this  promise  was  *^  fjt*^ 
solemnly  given  by  Miss  Crawley,  who  left  her  little  prot^g^e,  blessing 
and  admiring  her  as  a  dear,  artless,  tender-hearted,  affectionate,  in-       ^  ^*-^ 
comprehensible  creature.  (^ 

And  now  she  was  left  alone  to  think  over  the  sudden  and  ^p^'f^jA 
wonderful  events  of  the  day,  and  of  what  had  been  and  what  might    \y^^^ 
have  been.     What  think  you  were  the  private  feelings  of  Miss,  no 
(begging  her  pardon)  of  Mrs.  Rebecca  ?     If,  a  few  pages  back,  the 
present  writer  claimed  the  privilege  of  peeping  into  Miss  Amelia 
Sedley's  bedroom,  and  understanding  with  the  omniscience  of  the 
novelist  all  the  gentle  pains  and  passions  which  were  tossing  upon^v 
that  innocent  pillow,   why  should   he   not  declare  himself  to  be  Y 
Rebecca's  confidant  too,  master  of  her  secrets,  and  seal-keeper  of  ] 
that  young  woman's  conscience  ?  ^ 

Well,  then,  in  the  first  plaoe,  Rebecca  gave  way  to  some  very 
sincere  and  touching  regrets  that  a  piece  of  marvellous  good  fortune         ^^ 
should  have  been  so  near  her,  and  she  actually  obliged  to  decline  it.    {♦''^  ^    . 
In  this  natural  emotion  every  properly  regulated  mind  will  certainly    Je*^^ 
share.     What  good  mother  is  there  that  would  not  commiserate  a 
penniless  spinster,  who  might  have  been  my  lady,  and  have  shared 
four  thousand  a  year  1     "^hat  well-bred  young  person  is  there  in  all 
y£iiity  Fnir,  who  will  not  feel  for  a  hard-working,  ingenious,  meri- 
torious girl,  who  gets  such  an  honourable,  advantageous,  provoking 
of^br,  just  at  the  very  moment  when  it  is  out  of  her  power  to  accept 
it  ?     I  am  sure  our  friend  Becky's  disappointment  deserves  and  will 
command  every  sympathy. 

I  remember  one  night  being  in  the  Fair  myself,  at  an  evening 
party.  I  observed  old  Miss  Toady,  there  also  present,  single  out 
for  her  special  attentions  and  flattery  little  Mrs.  Briefless,  the 
barrister's  wife,  who  is  of  a  good  family  certainly,  but,  as  we  all 
know,  is  as  poor  as  poor  can  be. 

What,  I  asked  in  my  own  mind,  can  cause  this  obsequiousness 
on  the  part  of  Miss  Toady  ;  has  Briefless  got  a  county  court,  or  has 
his  wife  had  a  fortune  left  her?     Miss  Toady  explained  presentljr, 


142  VANITY    FAIR 

with  that  simplicity  which  distinguishes  all  her  conduct.  "You 
know,"  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Briefless  is  granddaughter  of  Sir  John 
Kedhand,  who  is  so  ill  at  Cheltenham  that  he  can't  last  six  months. 
Mrs.  Briefless's  papa  succeeds ;  so  you  see  she  will  be  a  baronet's 
daughter."  And  Miss  Toady  asked  Briefless  and  his  wife  to  dinner 
the  very  next  week. 

If  the  mere  chance  of  becoming  a  baronet's  daughter  can  procure 
a  lady  such  homage  in  the  world,  surely,  surely  we  may  respect  the 
agonies  of  a  young  woman  who  has  lost  the  opportunity  of  becoming 
a  baronet's  wife.  Who  would  have  dreamed  of  Lady  Crawley  dying 
so  soon  1  She  was  one  of  those  sickly  women  that  might  have  lasted 
these  ten  years — Rebecca  thought  to  herself,  in  all  the  woes  of 
repentance — and  I  might  have  been  my  lady !  I  might  have  led 
that  old  man  whither  I  would.  I  might  have  thanked  Mrs.  Bute 
for  her  patronage,  and  Mr.  Pitt  for  his  insufferable  condescension. 
I  would  have  had  the  town-house  newly  furnished  and  decorated. 
I  would  have  had  the  handsomest  carriage  in  London,  and  a 
box  at  the  opera ;  and  I  would  have  been  presented  next  season. 
All  this  might  have  been;  and  now — now  all  was  doubt  and 
mystery. 

But  Rebecca  was  a  young  lady  of  too  much  resolution  and  energy 
of  character  to  permit  herself  much  useless  and  unseemly  sorrow  for 
the  irrevocable  past ;  so,  having  devoted  only  the  proper  portion  of 
regret  to  it,  she  wisely  turned  her  whole  attention  towards  the 
future,  which  was  now  vastly  more  important  to  her.  And  she 
surveyed  her  position,  and  its  hopes,  doubts,  and  chances. 

In  the  first  place,  she  was  married; — that  was  a  great  fact. 
Sir  Pitt  knew  it.  She  was  not  so  much  surprised  into  the  avowal, 
as  induced  to  make  it  by  a  sudden  calculation.  It  must  have  come 
some  day :  and  why  not  now  as  at  a  later  period  %  He  who  would 
have  married  her  himself  must  at  least  be  silent  with  regard  to  her 
marriage.  How  Miss  Crawley  would  bear  the  news — was  the  great 
question.  Misgivings  Rebecca  had;  but  she  remembered  all  Miss 
Crawley  had  said ;  the  old  lady's  avowed  contempt  for  birth ;  her 
daring  liberal  opinions ;  her  general  romantic  propensities ;  her  almost 
doting  attachment  to  her  nephew,  and  her  repeatedly  expressed  fond- 
ness for  Rebecca  herself.  She  is  so  fond  of  him,  Rebecca  thought, 
that  she  wiU  forgive  him  anything :  she  is  so  used  to  me  that  I 
don't  think  she  could  be  comfortable  without  me  :  when  the  eclair- 
cissement  comes  there  will  be  a  scene,  and  hysterics,  and  a  great 
quarrel,  and  then  a  great  reconciUation.  At  all  events,  what  use 
was  there  in  delaying*?  the  die  was  thrown,  and  now  or  to-morrow 
the  issue  must  be  the  same.  And  so,  resolved  that  Miss  Crawley 
should  have  the  news,  the  young  person  debated  in  her  mind  as  to 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO  143 

the  best  means  of  conveying  it  to  her ;  and  whether  she  should  face 
the  storm  that  must  come,  or  fly  and  avoid  it  until  its  first  fury  was 
blown  over.  In  this  state  of  meditation  she  wrote  the  following 
letter : — 

"Dearest  Friend, — The  great  crisis  which  we  have  debated 
about  so  often  is  come.  Half  of  my  secret  is  known,  and  I  have 
thought  and  thought,  until  I  am  quite  sure  that  now  is  the  time  to 
reveal  the  whole  of  the  mystery.  Sir  Pitt  came  to  me  this  morning, 
and  made — what  do  you  think  1 — a  declaration  in  form.  Think  of 
that !  Poor  httle  me.  I  might  have  been  Lady  Crawley,  How 
pleased  Mrs.  Bute  would  have  been ;  and  ma  tante  if  I  had  taken 
precedence  of  her  !  I  might  have  been  somebody's  mamma,  instead  of 
— oh,  I  tremble,  I  tremble,  when  I  think  how  soon  we  must  tell  all ! — 

"  Sir  Pitt  knows  I  am  married,  and  not  knowing  to  whom,  is  not 
very  much  displeased  as  yeto  Ma  tante  is  actually  angry  that  I 
should  have  refused  him.  But  she  is  all  kindness  and  graciousness. 
She  condescends  to  say  I  would  have  made  him  a  good  wife ;  and 
vows  that  she  will  be  a  mother  to  your  little  Eebecca.  She  will  be 
shaken  when  she  first  hears  the  news.  But  need  we  fear  anything 
beyond  a  momentary  anger  1  I  think  not :  /  am  sure  not.  She 
dotes  upon  you  so  (you  naughty,  good-for-nothing  man),  that  she 
would  pardon  you  anything :  and,  indeed,  I  believe,  the  next  place 
in  her  heart  is  mine  :  and  that  she  would  be  miserable  without  me. 
Dearest !  something  tells  me  we  shall  conquer.  You  shall  leave  that 
odious  regiment :  quit  gaming,  racing,  and  he  a  good  hoy  ;  and  we 
shall  all  live  in  Park  Lane,  and  ma  tante  shall  leave  us  all  her 
money. 

"  I  shall  try  and  walk  to-morrow  at  3  in  the  usual  place.  If 
Miss  B.  accompanies  me,  you  must  come  to  dinner,  and  bring  an 
answer,  and  put  it  in  the  third  volume  of  Porteus's  sermons.  But, 
at  all  events,  come  to  your  own  R. 

**  To  Miss  Eliza  Styles, 

At  Mr.  Bamet's,  Saddler,  Knightsbridge." 

And  I  trust  there  is  no  reader  of  this  little  story  who  has  not 
discernment  enough  to  perceive  that  the  Miss  Eliza  Styles  (an  old 
schoolfellow,  Rebecca  said,  with  whom  she  had  resumed  an  active 
con-espondence  of  late,  and  who  used  to  fetch  these  letters  fi:om  the 
saddler's)  wore  brass  spurs,  and  large  curling  mustachios,  and  was 
indeed  no  other  than  Captain  Rawdon  Crawley.  ---^ 

18  ^-^.,. J, 


H 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  LETTER  ON  THE  PINCUSHION 

OW  they  were  married  is  not  of  the  shghtest  consequence  to 
anybody.  What  is  to  hinder  a  Captain  who  is  a  major,  and 
a  you^ff  lady  who  is  of  age,  from  purchasing  a  licence,  and 
uniting  themselves  at  any  church  in  this  town  1  Who  needs  to  be 
told,  that  if  a  woman  has  a  will,  she  will  assuredly  find  a  way  1 — My 
belief  is,  that  one  day,  when  Miss  Sharp  had  gone  to  pass  the  fore- 
noon with  her  dear  friend  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  in  Russell  Square,  a 
lady  very  like  her  might  have  been  seen  entering  a  church  in  the 
City,  in  company  with  a  gentleman  with  dyed  mustachios,  who,  after 
a  quarter  of  an  hour's  interval,  escorted  her  back  to  the  hackney-coach 
in  waiting,  and  that  this  was  a  quiet  bridal  party. 

And  who  on  earth,  after  the  daily  experience  we  have,  can  question 

the  probability  of  a  gentleman  marrying  anybody  ?    How  many  of  the 

wise  and  learned  have  married  their  cooks  ^     Did  not  Lord  Eldon 

.  y        himself,  the  most  prudent  of  men,  make  a  runaway  match  ?     Were 

k^*^    ^  not  Achilles  and  Ajax  both  in  love  with  their  servant  maids'?     And 

Vs^      are  we  to  expect  a  heavy  dragoon  with  strong  desires  and  small  brains, 

p  who  had  never  controlled  a  passion  in  his  life,  to  become  prudent  all  of 

.  /  a  sudden,  and  to  refuse  to  pay  any  price  for  an  indulgence  to  which 

^  he  had  a  mind  1    If  people  only  made  prudent  marriages,  what  a  stop 

to  population  there  would  be  ! 

It  seems  to  me,  for  my  part,  that  Mr.  Rawdon's  marriage  was  one 
of  the  honestest  actions  which  we  shall  have  to  record  in  any  portion 
of  that  gentleman's  biography,  which  has  to  do  with  the  present 
history.  No  one  will  say  it  is  unmanly  to  be  captivated  by  a  woman, 
or,  being  captivated,  to  marry  her ;  and  the  admiration,  the  delight, 
the  p  ssion,  the  wonder,  the  unbounded  confidence,  the  frantic  adora- 
tion with  which,  by  degrees,  this  big  warrior  got  to  regard  the  little 
Rebecca,  were  feelings  which  the  ladies  at  least  will  pronounce  were 
not  altogether  discreditable  to  him.  When  she  sang,  every  note 
thrilled  in  his  dull  soul,  and  tingled  through  his  huge  frame.  When 
she  spoke,  he  brought  all  the  force  of  his  brains  to  listen  and  wonder. 
If  she  was  jocular,  he  used  to  revolve  her  jokes  in  his  mind,  and  ex- 
plode over  them  half-an-hour  afterwards  in  the  street,  to  the  surprise 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  145 

of  the  groom  in  the  tilbury  by  his  side,  or  the  comrade  riding  with 
him  in  Rotten  Row.  Her  words  were  oracles  to  him,  her  smallest 
actions  marked  by  an  infallible  grace  and  wisdom.  "  How  she  sings, 
— how  she  paints  !  "  thought  he.  "  How  she  rode  that  kicking  mare 
at  Queen's  Crawley ! "  And  he  w^uld  say  to  her  in  confidential 
moments,  "  By  Jove,  Beck,  you're  fit  to  be  Commander-in-Chief,  or 
Ai'chbishop  of  Canterbury,  by  Jove."  Is  his  case  a  rare  one?  and 
don't  we  see  every  day  in  the  Avorld  many  an  honest  Hercules  at  the 
apron-strings  of  Omphale,  and  great-whiskered  Samsons  prostrate  in 
Delilah's  lap? 

When,  then,  Becky  told  him  that  the  great  crisis  was  near,  and 
the  time  for  action  had  arrived,  Rawdon  expressed  himself  as  ready 
to  act  under  her  orders,  as  he  would  be  to  charge  with^iis  troop  at 
the  command  of  his  colonel.  There  was  no  need  for  him  to  put  his 
letter  into  the  third  volume  of  Porteus.  Rebecca  easily  found  a 
means  to  get  rid  of  Briggs,  her  companion,  and  met  her  faithful  friend 
in  "  the  usual  place  "  on  the  next  day.  She  had  thought  over  matters 
at  night,  and  communicated  to  Rawdon  the  result  of  her  detennina- 
tions.  He  agi-eed,  of  course,  to  everything ;  was  quite  sure  that  it 
was  all  right :  that  what  she  proposed  was  best ;  that  Miss  Crawley 
would  infallibly  relent,  or  "come  round,"  as  he  said,  after  a  time. 
Had  Rebecca's  resolutions  been  entirely  different,  he  would  have  /n  ^ 
followed  them  as  implicitly.  "  You  have  head  enough  for  both  of  us, 
Beck,"  said  he.  "  You're  sure  to  get  us  out  of  the  scrape.  I  never 
saw  your  equal,  and  I've  met  with  some  clippers  in  my  time  too."  And 
with  this  simple  confession  of  faith,  the  love-stricken  dragoon  left  her 
to  execute  his  part  of  the  project  which  she  had  formed  for  the  pair. 

It  consisted  simply  in  the  hiring  of  quiet  lodgings  at  Brompton, 
or  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  barracks,  for  Captain  and  Mrs.  Crawley. 
For  Rebecca  had  determined,  and  very  prudently,  we  think,  to  fly. 
Rawdon  was  only  too  happy  at  her  resolve ;  he  had  been  entreating 
her  to  take  this  measure  any  time  for  weeks  past.  He  pranced  off  to 
engage  the  lodgings  with  all  the  impetuosity  of  love.  He  agreed  to 
l)ay  two  guineas  a  week  so  readily,  that  the  landlady  regretted  she 
had  asked  him  so  little.  He  ordered  in  a  piano,  and  half  a  nursery- 
house  full  of  ffowers  :  and  a  heap  of  good  things.  As  for  shawls,  kid 
gloves,  silk  stockings,  gold  French  watches,  bracelets,  and  perfumery, 
he  sent  them  in  with  the  profusion  of  blind  love  and  unbounded  credit. 
And  having  relieved  his  mind  by  this  outpouring  of  generosity,  he 
went  and  dined  nervously  at  the  club,  waiting  until  the  gi-eat  moment 
of  his  life  should  come. 

The  occurrences  of  the  previous  day ;  the  admirable  conduct  of 
Rebecca  in  refusing  an  offer  so  advantageous  to  her,  the  secret  un- 


t^6  VANITY    FAIR 

happiness  preying  upon  her,  the  sweetness  and  silence  with  which 
she  bore  her  affliction,  made  Miss  Crawley  much  more  tender  than 
usual.  An  event  of  this  nature,  a  marriage,  or  a  refusal,  or  a  pro- 
posal, thrills  through  a  whole  household  of  women,  and  sets  all  their 
hysterical  sympathies  at  work.  As  an  observer  of  human  nature,  I 
regularly  frequent  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square,  during  the  genteel 
marriage  season ;  and  though  I  have  never  seen  the  bridegroom's  male 
friends  give  way  to  tears,  or  the  beadles  and  officiating  clergy  any 
way  affected,  yet  it  is  not  at  all  uncommon  to  see  women  who  are  not 
in  the  least  concerned  in  the  operations  going  on — old  ladies  who  are 
bng  past  marrying,  stout  middle-aged  females  with  plenty  of  sons 
and  daughters,  let  alone  pretty  young  creatures  in  pink  bonnets,  who 
are  on  their  promotion,  and  may  naturally  take  an  interest  in  the 
ceremony, — I  say  it  is  quite  common  to  see  the  women  present  piping, 
sobbing,  sniffling ;  hiding  their  little  faces  in  their  little  useless  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  ;  and  heaving,  old  and  young,  with  emotion.  When 
my  friend,  the  fashionable  John  Pimlico,  married  the  lovely  Lady 
Belgravia  Green  Parker,  the  excitement  was  so  general,  that  even  the 
little  snuffy  old  pew-opener  who  let  me  into  the  seat  was  in  tears. 
And  wherefore  ?  I  inquired  of  my  own  soul :  she  was  not  going  to 
be  married. 

Miss  Crawley  and  Briggs  in  a  word,  after  the  affair  of  Sir  Pitt, 
indulged  in  the  utmost  luxury  of  sentiment,  and  Rebecca  became  an 
object  of  the  most  tender  interest  to  them.  In  her  absence  Miss 
Crawley  solaced  herself  with  the  most  sentimental  of  the  novels  in  her 
library.    Little  Sharp,  with  her  secret  griefs,  was  the  heroine  of  the  day. 

That  night  Rebecca  sang  more  sweetly  and  talked  more  pleasantly 
than  she  had  ever  been  heard  to  do  in  Park  Lane.  She  twined  her- 
self round  the  heart  of  Miss  Crawley.  She  spoke  lightly  and  laugh- 
ingly of  Sir  Pitt's  proposal,  ridiculed  it  as  the  foolish  fancy  of  an  old 
man ;  and  her  eyes  fflled  with  tears,  and  Briggs's  heart  with  unutterable 
pangs  of  defeat,  as  she  said  she  desired  no  other  lot  than  to  remain 
for  ever  with  her  dear  benefactress.  "  My  dear  little  creature,"  the 
old  lady  said,  "  I  don't  intend  to  let  you  stir  for  years,  that  you  may 
depend  upon  it.  As  for  going  back  to  that  odious  brother  of  mine 
after  what  has  passed,  it  is  out  of  the  question.  Here  you  stay  with 
me  and  Briggs.  Briggs  wants  to  go  to  see  her  relations  very  often. 
Briggs,  you  may  go  when  you  like.  But  as  for  you,  my  dear,  you 
must  stay  and  take  care  of  the  old  woman." 

If  Rawdon  Crawley  had  been  then  and  there  present,  instead  of 
being  at  the  club  nervously  drinking  claret,  the  pair  might  have  gone 
down  on  their  knees  before  the  old  spinster,  avowed  all,  and  been 
forgiven  in  a  twinkling.  But  that  good  chance  was  denied  to  the 
young  couple,  doubtless  in  order  that  this  story  might  be  written,  in 


A  HOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  147 

which  numbers  of  their  wonderftil  adventures  are  narrated — adven- 
tures which  could  never  have  occurred  to  them  if  they  had  been 
housed  and  sheltered  under  the  comfortable  uninteresting  forgiveness 
of  Miss  Crawley. 

J' 

Under  Mrs.  Firkin's  orders,  in  the  Park  Lane  establishment, 
was  a  young  woman  from  Hampshire,  whose  business  it  was,  among 
other  duties,  to  knock  at  Miss  Sharp's  door  with  that  jug  of  hot 
water,  which  Firkin  would  rather  have  perished  than  have  pre- 
sented to  the  intruder.  This  girl,  bred  on  the  family  estate,  had  a 
brother  in  Captain  Crawley's  troop,  and  if  the  truth  were  known, 
I  dare  say  it  would  come  out  that  she  was  aware  of  certain  arrange^ 
ments,  which  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  this  history.  At  any 
rate,  she  purchased  a  yellow  shawl,  a  pair  of  green  boots,  and  a 
light  blue  hat  with  a  red  feather,  with  three  guineas  which  Rebecca 
gave  her,  and  as  little  Sharp  was  by  no  means  too  liberal  with  her 
money,  no  doubt  it  was  for  services  rendered  that  Betty  Martin  was 
so  bribed. 

On  the  second  day  after  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's  offer  to  Miss  Sharp, 
the  sun  rose  as  usual,  and  at  the  usual  hour  Betty  Martin,  the 
upstairs  maid,  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  governess's  bedchamber. 

No  answer  was  returned,  and  she  knocked  again.  Silence  was 
still  uninterrupted ;  and  Betty,  with  the  hot  water,  opened  the  dooi 
and  entered  the  chamber. 

The  little  white  dimity  bed  was  as  smooth  and  trim  as  on  the 
day  previous,  when  Betty's  o\vn  hands  had  helped  to  make  it.  Two 
little  trunks  were  corded  in  one  end  of  the  room ;  and  on  the  table 
before  the  window — on  the  pincushion — the  great  fat  pincushion 
lined  with  pink  inside,  and  twilled  like  a  lady's  nightcap — lay  a 
letter.     It  had  been  reposing  there  probably  all  night. 

Betty  advanced  towards  it  on  tiptoe,  as  if  she  were  afraid  to 
awake  it — looked  at  it,  and  round  the  room,  with  an  air  of  gi'eat 
wonder  and  satisfaction ;  took  up  the  letter,  and  grinned  intensely 
as  she  turned  it  round  and  over,  and  finally  carried  it  into  Miss 
Briggs's  room  below. 

How  could  Betty  tell  that  the  letter  was  for  Miss  Briggs,  I 
should  like  to  know  %  All  the  schooling  Betty  had  was  at  Mrs 
Bute  Crawley's  Sunday-school,  and  she  could  no  more  read  writing 
than  Hebrew. 

"La,  Miss  Briggs,"  the  girl  exclaimed,  "0  Miss,  something 
must  have  happened — there's  nobody  in  Miss  Sharp's  room;  the 
bed  ain't  been  slep  in,  and  she've  run  away,  and  left  this  letter  for 
you,  Miss." 

"  What ! "  cries  Briggs,  dropping  her  comb,  the  thin  wisp  of 

1* 


.v^ 


146  VANITY    FAIR 

faded  hair  falling  over  her  shoulders ;  "an  elopement !  Miss  Sharp 
a  fugitive  !  What,  what  is  this  1 "  and  she  eagerly  broke  the  neat 
seal,  and,  as  they  say,  "devoured  the  contents"  of  the  letter  ad- 
dressed to  her. 

"  Dear  Miss  Briggs,"  the  refugee  wrote,  "  the  kindest  heart  in  the 
world,  as  yours  is,  will  pity  and  sympathise  with  me  and  excuse  me. 
With  tears,  and  prayers,  and  blessings,  I  leave  the  home  where  the 
poor  orphan  has  ever  met  with  kindness  and  affection.  Claims 
even  superior  to  those  of  my  benefactress  call  me  hence.  I  go  to  my 
duty — to  my  husband.  Yes,  I  am  married.  My  husband  com 
mands  me  to  seek  the  humble  home  which  we  call  ours.  Dearest 
Miss  Briggs,  break  the  news  as  your  delicate  sympathy  will  know 
how  to  do  it — to  my  dear,  my  beloved  friend  and  benefactress. 
Tell  her,  ere  I  went,  I  shed  tears  on  her  dear  pillow — that  pillow 
that  I  have  so  often  soothed  in  sickness — that  I  long  again  to 
watch — oh,  with  what  joy  shall  I  return  to  dear  Park  Lane  !  How 
I  tremble  for  the  answer  which  is  to  seal  my  fate !  When  Sir  Pitt 
deigned  to  offer  me  his  hand,  an  honour  of  which  my  beloved  Miss 
Crawley  said  I  was  deserving  (my  blessings  go  with  her  for  judging 
th^oor  orphan  worthy  to  be  her  sister  I),  I  told  Sir  Pitt  tha.t  I 
waj&  already  a  wife.  Even  he  forgave  me.  But  my  courage  failed 
me,  when  I  should  have  told  him  all — that  I  could  not  be  his  wife, 
for  I  was  his  daughter  I  I  am  wedded  to  the  best  and  most 
generous  of  men — Miss  Crawley's  Rawdon  is  my  Rawdon.  At  his 
command  I  open  my  lips,  and  follow  him  to  our  humble  home,  as 
I  would  through  the  wcyrld.  Oh,  my  excellent  and  kind  friend, 
intercede  with  my  Rawdon's  beloved  aunt  for  him  and  the  poor 
girl  to  whom  all  his  noble  race  have  shown  such  wnparalleled 
affection.  Ask  Miss  Crawley  to  receive  her  children.  I  can  say 
no  more,  but  blessings,  blessings  on  all  in  the  dear  house  I  leave, 
prays  your  affectionate  and  grateful 

"Midnight.  Rebecca  Crawley." 

Just  as  Briggs  had  finished  reading  this  affecting  and  interesting 
document,  which  reinstated  her  in  her  position  as  first  confidante  of 
Miss  Crawley,  Mrs.  Firkin  entered  the  room.  "Here's  Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley  just  arrived  by  the  mail  from  Hampshire,  and  wants  some 
tea ;  will  you  come  down  and  make  breakfast.  Miss  1 " 

And  to  the  surprise  of  Firkin,  clasping  her  dressing-gown  around 
her,  the  wisp  of  hair  floating  dishevelled  behind  her,  the  little  curl- 
papers still  sticking  in  bunches  round  her  forehead,  Briggs  sailed 
down  to  Mrs.  Bute  with  the  letter  in  her  hand  containing  the 
wonderful  news. 


THE   NOTE   ON   THE    PINCUSHION. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  149 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Firkin,"  gasped  Betty,  "  sech  a  business  !  Miss  Sharp 
have  a  gone  and  run  away  with  the  Capting,  and  they're  off  to 
Gretney  Green ! "  We  would  devote  a  chapter  to  describe  the 
emotions  of  Mrs.  Firkin,  did  not  the^assions  of  her  mistresses  occupy 
our  genteeler  muse. 

When  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley,  numbed  with  midnight  travelling,  and 
warming  herself  at  the  newly  crackling  parlour  fire,  heard  from  Miss 
Briggs  the  intelligence  of  the  clandestine  marriage,  she  declared  it 
was  quite  providential  that  she  should  have  arrived  at  such  a  time 
to  assist  poor  dear  Miss  Crawley  in  supporting  the  shock — that 
Rebecca  was  an  artful  little  hussy  of  whom  she  had  always  had  her 
suspicions ;  and  that  as  for  Rawdon  Crawley,  she  never  could  account 
for  his  aunt's  infatuation  regarding  him,  and  had  long  considered  him 
a  profligate,  lost,  and  abandoned  being.  And  this  awful  conduct, 
Mrs.  Bute  said,  will  have  at  least  this  good  effect,  it  will  open  poor 
dear  Miss  Crawley's  eyes  to  the  real  character  of  this  wicked  man. 
Then  Mrs.  Bute  had  a  comfortable  hot  toast  and  tea ;  and  as  there 
was  a  vacant  room  in  the  house  now,  there  was  no  need  for  her  to 
remain  at  the  Gloster  Coffee  House  where  the  Portsmouth  mail  had 
set  her  down,  and  whence  she  ordered  Mr.  Bowls's  aide-de-camp  the 
footman  to  bring  away  her  trunks. 

Miss  Crawley,  be  it  known,  did  not  leave  her  room  until  near 
noon — taking  chocolate  in  bed  in  the  morning,  while  Becky  Sharp 
read  the  Morning  Post  to  her,  or  otherwise  amusing  herself  or 
dawdling.  The  conspirators  below  agreed  that  they  would  spare  the 
dear  lady's  feelings  until  she  appeared  in  her  drawing-room  :  mean- 
while it  was  announced  to  her,  that  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  had  come  up 
from  Hampshire  by  the  mail,  was  staying  at  the  Gloster,  sent  her 
love  to  Miss  Crawley,  and  asked  for  breakfast  with  Miss  Briggs.  The 
arrival  of  Mrs.  Bute,  which  would  not  have  caused  any  extreme 
delight  at  another  period,  was  hailed  with  pleasure  now;  Miss 
Ciiiwley  being  pleased  at  the  notion  of  a  gossip  with  her  sister-in-law 
regarding  the  late  Lady  Crawley,  the  funeral  arrangements  pending, 
and  Sir  Pitt's  abrupt  proposals  to  Rebecca. 

It  was  not  until  the  old  lady  was  fairly  ensconced  in  her  usual 
arm-chair  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  preliminary  embraces  and 
inquiries  had  taken  place  between  the  ladies,  that  the  conspirators 
thought  it  advisable  to  submit  her  to  the  operation.  Who  has  not 
admired  the  artifices  and  delicate  approaches  with  which  women 
"  prepare  "  their  friends  for  bad  news  ?  Miss  Crawley's  two  friends 
made  such  an  apparatus  of  mystery  before  they  broke  the  intelligence 
to  her,  that  they  worked  her  up  to  the  necessary  degree  of  doubt 
and  alarm. 


150  VANITY    FAIR 

"  And  she  refused  Sir  Pitt,  my  dear,  dear  Miss  Crawley,  prepare 
yourself  for  it,"  Mrs.  Bute  said,  "because — because  she  couldn't 
help  herself." 

"  Of  course  there  was  a  reason,"  Miss  Crawley  answered.  "  She 
liked  somebody  else.     I  told  Briggs  so  yesterday." 

"  Likes  somebody  else  ! "  Briggs  gasped.  "  0  my  dear  friend, 
she  is  married  already." 

"Married  already,"  Mrs.  Bute  chimed  in;  and  both  sate  with 
clasped  hands  looking  from  each  other  at  their  victim. 

"  Send  her  to  me,  the  instant  she  comes  in.  The  little  sly 
wretch  :  how  dared  she  not  tell  me  1 "  cried  out  Miss  Crawley. 

"  She  won't  come  in  soon.  Prepare  yourself,  dear  friend — she's 
gone  out  for  a  long  time — she's — she's  gone  altogether." 

"G-racious  goodness,  and  who's  to  make  my  chocolate?  Send 
for  her  and  have  her  back ;  I  desire  that  she  come  back,"  the  old 
lady  said. 

"  She  decamped  last  night,  ma'am,"  cried  Mrs.  Bute. 

"  She  left  a  letter  for  me,"  Briggs  exclaimed.     "  She's  married 


to- 


"  Prepare  her,  for  Heaven's  sake.  Don't  torture  her,  my  dear 
Miss  Briggs." 

"  She's  married  to  whom  ? "  cries  the  spinster  in  a  nervous  fury 

"  To— to  a  relation  of " 

"She  refused  Sir  Pitt,"  cried  the  victim.  "Speak  at  once. 
Don't  drive  me  mad." 

"  0  ma'am — prepare  her,  Miss  Briggs — she's  married  to  Rawdon 
Crawley." 

"Rawdon  married — Rebecca — governess — nobod — Get  out  of 
my  house,  you  fool,  you  idiot — you  stupid  old  Briggs — how  dare 
you  ?  You're  in  the  plot — you  made  him  marry,  thinking  that  I'd 
leave  my  money  from  him — you  did,  Martha,"  the  poor  old  lady 
screamed  in  hysteric  sentences. 

"  I,  ma'am,  ask  a  member  of  this  family  to  marry  a  drawing- 
master's  daughter  1 " 

"Her  mother  was  a  Montmorency,"  cried  out  the  old  lady, 
pulling  at  the  bell  with  all  her  might. 

"  Her  mother  was  an  opera  girl,  and  she  has  been  on  the  stage 
or  worse  herself,"  said  Mrs.  Bute. 

Miss  Crawley  gave  a  final  scream,  and  fell  back  in  a  faint. 
They  were  forced  to  take  her  back  to  the  room  which  she  had  just 
quitted.  One  fit  of  hysterics  succeeded  another.  The  doctor  was 
sent  for — the  apothecary  arrived.  Mra.  Bute  took  up  the  post  of 
nurse  by  her  bedside.  "Her  relations  ought  to  be  round  about 
her,"  that  amiable  woman  said. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  151 

She  had  scarcely  been  carried  up  to  her  room,  when  a  new 
person  arrived  to  whom  it  was  also  necessary  to  break  the  news. 
This  was  Sir  Pitt.  "Where's  Becky?"  he  said,  coming  in. 
"Where's  her  traps?     She's  coming  with  me  to  Queen's  Crawley." 

"  Have  you  not  heard  the  astoiaishing  intelligence  regarding  her 
surreptitious  union  ? "  Briggs  asked. 

"  What's  that  to  me  ? "  Sir  Pitt  asked.  "  I  know  she's  married. 
That  makes  no  odds.  Tell  her  to  come  down  at  once,  and  not 
keep  me." 

"  Are  you  not  aware,  sir,"  Miss  Briggs  asked,  "  that  she  has  left 
our  roof,  to  the  dismay  of  Miss  Crawley,  who  is  nearly  killed  by 
the  intelligence  of  Captain  Rawdon's  union  with  her  1 " 

When  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  heard  that  Rebecca  was  married  to  his 
son,  he  broke  out  into  a  fury  of  language,  which  it  would  do  no 
good  to  repeat  in  this  place,  as  indeed  it  sent  poor  Briggs  shuddering 
out  of  the  room;  and  with  her  we  will  shut  the  door  upon  the 
figure  of  the  frenzied  old  man,  wild  with  hatred  and  insane  withi 
baffled  desire.  ^ 

One  day  after  he  went  to  Queen's  Crawley,  he  burst  like  a 
madman  into  the  room  she  had  used  when  there — dashed  open  her 
boxes  with  his  foot,  and  flung  about  her  papers,  clothes,  and  other 
relics.  Miss  Horrocks,  the  butler's  daughter,  took  some  of  them. 
The  children  dressed  themselves  and  acted  plays  in  .thfijothers.  It 
was  but  a  few  days  after  the  poor  mother  had  gone  to  her  lonely 
burying-place ;  and  was  laid,  unwept  and  disregarded,  in  a  vault 
full  of  strangers. 

"Suppose  the  old  lady  doesn't  come-to,"  Rawdon  said  to  his 
little  wife,  as  they  sate  together  in  the  snug  little  Brompton  lodgings. 
She  had  been  trying  the  new  piano  all  the  morning.  The  new 
gloves  fitted  her  to  a  nicety ;  the  new  shawls  became  her  wonder-  - 
fully;  the  new  rings  glittered  on  her  little  hands,  and  the  new 
watch  ticked  at  her  waist;  "suppose  she  don't  come  round,  eh, 
Becky?" 

"  ril  make  your  fortune,"  she  said ;  and  Delilah  patted  Samson's  ^ 
cheek. 

"  You  can  do  anything,"  he  said,  kissing  the  little  hand.  "  By 
Jove  you  can ;  and  we'll  drive  down  to  the  Star  and  Garter,  and 
dine,  by  Jove." 


^^ 


n^l^ 


y/'^ 


? 


\p^ 


^ 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HOW  CAPTAIN  DOBBIS  BOUGHT  A  PIANO 

IF  there  is  any  exhibition  in  all  Vanity  Fair  which  Satire  and 
Sentiment  can  visit  arm  in  arm  together ;  where  you  light  on 
the  strangest  contrasts  laughable  and  tearful :  where  you  may 
be  gentle  and  pathetic,  or  savage  and  cynical  with  perfect  pro- 
priety :  it  is  at  one  of  those  public  assemblies,  a  crowd  of  which 
are  advertised  every  day  in  the  last  page  of  the  2'imes  newspaper, 
and  over  which  th^  late  Mr.  George  Robins  used  to  preside  with 
so  much  dignity.  There  are  very  few  London  people,  as  I  fancy, 
who  have  not  attended  at  these  meetings,  and  all  with  a  taste  for 
moralising  must  have  thought,  with  a  sensation  and  interest  not  a 
little  startling  and  queer,  of  the  day  when  their  turn  shall  come  too, 
and  Mr.  Hammerdown  will  sell  by  the  orders  of  Diogenes's  assignees, 
or  will  be  instructed  by  the  executors  to  offer  to  public  competition, 
the  library,  furniture,  plate,  wardrobe,  and  choice  cellar  of  wines  of 
Epicurus  deceased. 

Even  with  the  most  selfish  disposition,  the  Vanity-fairian,  as  he 
witnesses  this  sordid  part  of  the  obsequies  of  a  departed  friend,  can't 
but  feel  some  sympathies  and  regret.  My  Lord  Dives's  remains 
are  in  the  family  vault :  the  statuaries  are  cutting  an  inscription 
veraciously  commemorating  his  virtues,  and  the  sorrows  of  his  heir, 
who  is  disposing  of  his  goods.  What  guest  at  Dives's  table  can 
pass  the  familiar  house  without  a  sigh  1 — the  familiar  house  of  which 
the  lights  used  to  shine  so  cheerfully  at  seven  o'clock,  of  which  the 
hall-doors  opened  so  readily,  of  which  the  obsequious  servants,  as 
you  passed  up  the  comfortable  stair,  sounded  your  name  from  land- 
ing to  landing,  until  it  reached  the  apartment  where  jolly  old  Dives 
welcomed  his  friends  !  What  a  number  of  them  he  had ;  and  what 
a  noble  way  of  entertaining  them.  How  witty  people  used  to  be 
here  who  were  morose  when  they  got  out  of  the  door;  and  how 
courteous  and  fiiendly  men  who  slandered  and  hated  each  other 
everywhere  else !  He  was  pompous,  but  with  such  a  cook  what 
W(Hild  one  not  swallow  1  he  was  rather  dull,  perhaps,  but  would  not 
such  wine  make  any  conversation  pleasant  ?  We  must  get  some  of 
his  Burgundy  at  any  price,  the  mourners  cry  at  his  club.     "  I  got 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  153 

this  box  at  old  Dives's  sale,"  Pincher  says,  handing  it  round,  "  one 
of  Louis  XV. 's  mistresses — pretty  thing,  is  it  not  ? — sweet  miniature," 
and  they  talk  of  the  way  in  which  young  Dives  is  dissipating  his 
fortune. 

How  changed  the  house  is,  thojigh  !  The  front  is  patched  over 
with  bills,  setting  forth  the  particulars  of  the  furniture  in  staring 
capitals.  They  have  hung  a  shred  of  carpet  out  of  an  upstairs 
window — a  half-dozen  of  porters  are  lounging  on  the  dirty  steps — 
the  hall  swarms  with  dingy  guests  of  oriental  countenance,  who 
thrust  printed  cards  into  your  hand,  and  offer  to  bid.  Old  women 
and  amateurs  have  invaded  the  upper  apartments,  pinching  the  bed 
curtains,  poking  into  the  feathers,  shampooing  the  mattresses,  and 
clapping  the  wardrobe  drawers  to  and  fro.  Enterprising  young 
housekeepers  are  measuring  the  looking-glasses  and  hangings  to  see 
if  they  will  suit  the  new  menage — (Snob  will  brag  for  years  that  he 
has  purchased  this  or  that  at  Dives's  sale),  and  Mr.  Hammerdown 
is  sitting  on  the  great  mahogany  dining-tables,  in  the  dining-room 
below,  waving  the  ivory  hammer,  and  employing  all  the  artifices  of 
eloquence,  enthusiasm,  entreaty,  reason,  despair;  shouting  to  his 
people ;  satirising  Mr.  Davids  for  his  sluggishness ;  inspiriting  Mr. 
Moss  into  action;  imploring,  commanding,  bellowing,  until  down 
comes  the  hammer  like  fate,  and  we  pass  to  the  next  lot.  0  Dives, 
who  would  ever  have  thought,  as  we  sat  round  the  broad  table 
sparkling  with  plate  and  spotless  linen,  to  have  seen  such  a  dish 
at  the  head  of  it  as  that  roaring  auctioneer  % 

It  was  rather  late  in  the  sale.  The  excellent  drawing-room 
furniture  by  the  best  makers ;  the  rare  and  famous  wines  selected, 
regardless  of  cost,  and  with  the  well-known  taste  of  the  purchaser ; 
the  rich  and  complete  set  of  family  plate  had  been  sold  on  the 
previous  days.  Certain  of  the  best  wines  (which  all  had  a  great 
character  among  amateurs  in  the  neighbourhood)  had  been  purchased 
for  his  master,  who  knew  them  very  well,  by  the  butler  of  oui-  friend 
John  Osborne,  Esquire,  of  Russell  Square.  A  small  portion  of  the 
most  useful  articles  of  the  plate  had  been  bought  by  some  young 
stockbrokei-s  from  the  City.  And  now  the  public  being  invited  to 
the  purchase  of  minor  objects,  it  happened  that  the  orator  on  the  table 
was  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a  picture,  which  he  sought  to  recom- 
mend to  his  audience  :  it  was  by  no  means  so  select  or  numerous  a 
company  as  had  attended  the  previous  days  of  the  auction. 

"  No.  369,"  roared  Mr.  Hammerdown.  "  Portrait  of  a  gentleman 
on  an  elephant.  Who'll  bid  for  the  gentleman  on  the  elephant? 
Lift  up  the  picture,  Blowman,  and  let  the  company  examine  this 
lot."  A  long,  pale,  military-looking  gentleman,  seated  demurely  at 
the  mahogany  table,  could  not  help  grinning  aa  this  valuable  lot  was 


154  VANITY   FAIR      \^>^ 

shown  by  Mr.  Blowman.  "Turn  the  elephant  to  the  Captain, 
Blowman.  What  shall  we  say,  sir,  for  the  elephant  T'  but  the 
Captain,  blushing  in  a  very  hurried  and  discomfited  manner,  turned 
away  his  head. 

"  Shall  we  say  twenty  guineas  for  this  work  of  art  1 — fifteen, 
five,  name  your  own  price.  The  gentleman  without  the  elephant 
is  worth  five  pound." 

"  I  wonder  it  ain't  come  down  with  him,"  said  a  professional 
wag,  "  he's  anyhow  a  precious  big  one ; "  at  which  (for  the  elephant- 
rider  was  represented  as  of  a  very  stout  figure)  there  was  a  general 
giggle  in  the  room. 

"  Don't  be  trying  to  deprecate  the  value  of  the  lot,  Mr.  Moss," 

Mr.  Hammerdown  said ;  "let  the  company  examine  it  as  a  work  of 

art — the  attitude  of  the  gallant  animal  quite  according  to  natur' ; 

\y      the  gentleman  in  a  nankeen-jacket,  his  gun  in  his  hand,  is  going  to 

r    J       the  chase ;  in  the  distance  a  banyhann-tree  and  a  pagody,  most 

^  likely  resemblances  of  some  interesting  spot  in  our  famous  Eastern 

"  .J^.        possessions.     How  much  for  this  lot?    Come,  gentlemen,  don't  keep 

f^  A^     me  here  all  day." 

SLn\J^       Some  one  bid  five  shillings,  at  which  the  military  gentleman 

Ok^ip^    looked  towards  the  quarter  from  which  this  splendid  offer  had  come, 

and  there  saw  another  officer  with  a  young  lady  on  his  arm,  who 

both  appeared  to  be  highly  amused  with  the  scene,  and  to  whom, 

'^  f       finally,  this  lot  was  knocked  down  for  half-a-guinea.     He  at  the 

Ar  table  looked  more  surprised  and  discomposed  than  ever  when  he 

i  spied  this  pair,  and  his  head  sank  into  his  military  collar,  and  he 

•    '^  turned  his  back  upon  them,  so  as  to  avoid  them  altogether. 

Of  all  the  other  articles  which  Mr.  Hammerdown  had  the  honour 
to  offer  for  public  competition  that  day  it  is  not  our  purpose  to 
make  mention,  save  of  one  only,  a  little  square  piano,  which  came 
down  from  the  upper  regions  of  the  house  (the  state  grand  piano 
having  been  disposed  of  previously) ;  this  the  young  lady  tried  with 
a  rapid  and  skilful  hand  (making  the  officer  blush  and  start  again), 
and  for  it,  when  its  turn  came,  her  agent  began  to  bid. 

But  there  was  an  opposition  here.  The  Hebrew  aide-de-camp 
in  the  service  of  the  officer  at  the  table  bid  against  the  Hebrew 
gentleman  employed  by  the  elephant  purchasers,  and  a  brisk  battle 
ensued  over  this  little  piano,  the  combatants  being  greatly  encouraged 
by  Mr.  Hammerdown. 

At  last,  when  the  competition  had  been  prolonged  for  some  time, 
the  elephant  captain  and  lady  desisted  from  the  race ;  and  the  hammer 
coming  down,  the  auctioneer  said :  "  Mr.  Lewis,  twenty-five,"  and 
Mr.  Lewis's  chief  thus  became  the  proprietor  of  the  little  square  piano. 
Having  effiected  the  purchase,  he  sate  up  as  if  he  was  greatly  relieved, 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  155 

and  the  unsuccessful  competitors  catching  a  glimpse  of  him  at  this 
moment,  the  lady  said  to  her  friend — 

"Why,  Rawdon,  it's  Captain  Dobbin." 

I  suppose  Becky  was  discontented  with  the  new  piano  her  husband 
had  hired  for  her,  or  perhaps  the  ^oprietors  of  that  instrument  had 
fetched  it  away,  declining  further  credit,  or  perhaps  she  had  a  par- 
ticular attachment  for  the  one  which  she  had  just  tried  to  purchase, 
recollecting  it  in  old  days,  when  she  used  to  play  upon  it,  in  the  little  ,  ,„^„a#J 
sitting-room  of  our  dear  Amelia  Sedley.  '^^    Cm^ 

The  sale  was  at  the  old  house  in  Russell  Square,  where  we  passed  \^ 
someevenings  together  at  the  beginning  of  this  story.    Good  old  John  j^     ', 
Sedley  was  a  ruined  man.     His  name  had  been  proclaimed  as  a  de-     oJM>^ 
faulter  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  his  bankruptcy  and  commercial    .    ^^ 
extermination  had  followed.     Mr.  Osborne's  butler  came  to  buy  some  '^'^pt 
of  the  famous  port  wine  to  transfer  to  the  cellars  over  the  way.     As  ij^^^^f^ 
for  one  dozen  well-manufactured  silver  spoons  and  forks  at  per  oz.,      gj^i^ 
and  one  dozen  dessert  ditto  ditto,  there  were  three  young  stockbrokers  ^"-^^^{^^ 
(Messrs.  Dale,  Spiggot,  and  Dale,  of  Threadneedle  Street,  indeed),  iJ3/  ^ 
who,  having  had  dealings  with  the  old  man,  and  kindnesses  from  him     «s-f^  «^ 
in  days  when  he  was  kind  to  everybody  with  whom  he  dealt,  sent    '^^^"^ 
this  little  spar  out  of  the  wreck  with  their  love  to  good  Mrs.  Sedley ; 
and  with  respect  to  the  piano,  as  it  had  been  Amelia's,  and  as  she 
might  miss  it  and  want  one  now,  and  as  Captain  William  Dobbin 
could  no  more  play  upon  it  than  he  could  dance  on  the  tight-rope,  it 
is  probable  that  he  did  not  purchase  the  instrument  for  his  own  use. 

In  a  word,  it  arrived  that  evening  at  a  wonderful  small  cottage 
in  a  street  leading  from  the  Fulham  Road — one  of  those  streets  which 
have  the  finest  romantic  names — (this  was  called  St.  Adelaide  Villas, 
Anna-Maria  Road,  West),  where  the  houses  look  like  baby-houses ; 
where  the  people,  looking  out  of  the  first-floor  windows,  must  infal- 
libly, as  you  think,  sit  with  their  feet  in  the  parlours ;  where  the 
shrubs  in  the  little  gardens  in  front  bloom  with  a  perennial  display 
of  little  children's  pinafores,  little  red  socks,  caps,  &c.  (polyandria 
polygynia) ;  whence  you  hear  the  sound  of  jingling  spinets  and  women 
singing ;  where  little  porter  pots  hang  on  the  railings  sunning  them^ 
selves ;  whither  of  evenings  you  see  City  clerks  padding  wearily  :  here 
it  was  that  Mr.  Clapp,  the  clerk  of  Mr.  Sedley,  had  his  domicile,  and 
in  this  asylum  the  good  old  gentleman  hid  his  head  with  his  wife  and 
daughter  when  the  crash  came. 

Jos  Sedley  had  acted  as  a  man  of  his  disposition  would,  when  the 
announcement  of  the  family  misfortune  reached  him.  He  did  not  come 
to  London,  but  he  wrote  to  his  mother  to  draw  upon  his  agents  for 
whatever  money  was  wanted,  so  that  his  kind  broken-spirited  old 
parents  had  no  present  poverty  to  fear.     This  done,  Jos  went  on  at 


156  VANITY   FAIR 

the  boarding-house  at  Cheltenham  pretty  much  as  before.  He  drove 
his  curricle ;  he  drank  his  claret ;  he  played  his  rubber ;  he  told  his 
Indian  stories,  and  the  Irish  widow  consoled  and  flattered  him  as  usual. 
His  present  of  money,  needful  as  it  was,  made  little  impression  on  his 
parents ;  and  I  have  heard  Amelia  say,  that  the  first  day  on  which 
she  saw  her  father  lift  up  his  head  after  the  failure,  was  on  the  receipt 
of  the  packet  of  forks  and  spoons  with  the  young  stockbrokers'  love, 
over  which  he  burst  out  crying  like  a  child,  being  greatly  more  affected 
than  even  his  wife,  to  whom  the  present  was  addressed.  Edward 
Dale,  the  junior  of  the  house,  who  purchased  the  spoons  for  the  firm, 
was,  in  fact,  very  sweet  upon  Amelia,  and  offered  for  her  in  spite  of 
all.  He  married  Miss  Louisa  Cutts  (daughter  of  Higham  &  Cutts, 
the  eminent  corn-factors)  with  a  handsome  fortune  in  1820 ;  and  is 
now  living  in  splendour,  and  with  a  numerous  family,  at  his  elegant 
villa,  Muswell  Hill.  But  we  must  not  let  the  recollections  of  this 
V^ good  fellow  cause  us  to  diverge  from  the  principal  history. 

I  hope  the  reader  has  much  too  good  an  opinion  of  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Crawley  to  suppose  that  they  ever  would  have  dreamed  of  paying 
a  visit  to  so  remote  a  district  as  Bloomsbury,  if  they  thought  the  family 
whom  they  proposed  to  honour  with  a  visit  were  not  merely  out  of 
fashion,  but  out  of  money,  and  could  be  serviceable  to  them  in  no 
possible  manner.  Rebecca  was  entirely  surprised  at  the  sight  of  the 
comfortable  old  house  where  she  had  met  with  no  small  kindness, 
ransacked  by  brokers  and  bargainers,  and  its  quiet  family  treasvnes 
given  up  to  public  desecration  and  plunder.  A  month  after  her  flight, 
she  had  bethought  her  of  Amelia,  and  Rawdon,  with  a  horse-laugh, 
had  expressed  a  perfect  willingness  to  see  young  George  Osborne  again. 
"  He's  a  very  agreeable  acquaintance,  Beck,"  the  wag  added.  "  I'd 
like  to  sell  him  another  horse,  Beck.  I'd  like  to  play  &  few  more 
games  at  billiards  with  him.  He'd  be  what  I  call  useful  just  now, 
Mrs.  C. — ha,  ha  !  "  by  which  sort  of  speech  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  Rawdon  Crawley  had  a  deliberate  desire  to  cheat  Mr.  Osborne 
at  play,  but  only  wished  to  take  that  fair  advantage  of  him  which 
almost  every  sporting  gentleman  in  Vanity  Fair  considers  to  be  his 
v\  due  from  his  neighbour. 

The  old  aunt  was  long  in  "  coming-to."  A  month  had  elapsed. 
Rawdon  was  denied  the  door  by  Mr.  Bowls ;  his  servants  could  not 
get  a  lodgment  in  the  house  at  Park  Lane ;  his  letters  were  sent  back 
unopened.  Miss  Crawley  never  stirred  out — she  was  unwell — and 
Mrs.  Bute  remained  still  and  never  left  her.  Crawley  and  his  wife 
both  of  them  augured  evil  from  the  continued  presence  of  Mrs.  Bute. 

"  Gad,  I  begin  to  perceive  now  why  she  was  always  bringing  us 
together  at  Queen's  Crawley,"  Rawdon  said. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  157 

"  What  an  artflil  little  woman  ! "  ejaculated  Rebecca. 

"  Well,  /  don't  regret  it,  if  you  don't,"  the  Captain  cried,  still  in 
an  amorous  rapture  with  his  wife,  who  rewarded  him  with  a  kiss  by- 
way of  reply,  and  was  indeed  not  a  little  gratified  by  the  generous 
confidence  of  her  husband.  ^ 

"  If  he  had  but  a  little  more  brains,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  I 
might  make  something  of  him;"_hut  she  never  let  him  perceive  the 
opinion  she  had  of  him  ;  listened  .with  indefatigable  complacency  to 
his  stories  of  the  stable  and  the  mess ;  laughed  at  all  his  jokes ;  felt 
the  greatest  interest  in  Jack  Spatterdash,  whose  cab-horse  had  come 
down,  and  Bob  Martingale,  who  had  been  taken  up  in  a  gambling- 
house,  and  Tom  Cinqbars,  who  was  going  to  ride  the  steeplechase. 
When  he  came  home  she  was  alert  and  happy  :  when  he  went  out  she 
pressed  him  to  go  :  when  he  stayed  at  home,  she  played  and  sang  for 
him,  made  him  good  drinks,  superintended  his  dinner,  warmed  his 
slippers,  and  steeped  his  soul  in  comfort.  The  best  of  women  (I  have  ^C 
heard  my  grandmother  say)  are  hypocritesT  We  don't  know  how 
much  they  hide  fi-om  us  :  how  watchful  they  are  when  they  seem  most 
artless  and  confidential :  how  often  those  frank  smiles  which  they 
wear  so  easily,  are  traps  to  cajole  or  elude  or  disarm — I  don't  mean 
in  your  mere  coquettes,  but  your  domestic  models,  and  paragons  of  ^ 

female  virtue.     Who  has  not  seen  a  woman  hide  the  dulness  of  a     ujdf^^ 
stupid  husband,  or  coax  the  fury  of  a  savage  one?     We  accept  "^^5^ 
this  amiable  slavishness,  and  praise  a  woman  for  it;  we  call  this    ^     ^^\ 
pretty  treachery  truth.     A  good  housewife  is  of  necessity  a  hum-    5^ 
bug ;  and  Cornelia's  husband  was  hoodwinked,  as  Potiphar  was  —     '^  ^^  j 
only  in  a  different  way.  y^IP  ^ 

By  these  attentions,  that  veteran  rake,  Rawdon  Crawley,  found 
himself  converted  into  a  very  happy  and  submissive  married  man.  His 
former  haunts  knew  him  not.  They  asked  about  him  once  or  twice 
at  his  clubs,  but  did  not  miss  him  much ;  in  those  booths  of  Vanity 
Fair  people  seldom  do  miss  each  other.  His  secluded  wife  ever  smiKng 
and  cheerful,  his  little  comfortable  lodgings,  snug  meals,  and  homely 
evenings,  had  all  the  charms  of  novelty  and  secrecy.  The  marriage 
was  not  yet  declared  to  the  world,  or  published  in  the  Morning  Post. 
All  his  creditors  would  have  come  rushing  on  him  in  a  body,  had  they 
known  that  he  was  united  to  a  woman  without  fortune.  "  My  rela- 
tions won't  cry  fie  upon  me,"  Becky  said,  with  rather  a  bitter  laugh  ; 
and  she  was  quite  contented  to  wait  until  the  old  aunt  should  be 
reconciled,  before  she  claimed  her  place  in  society.  So  she  lived  at 
Brompton,  and  meanwhile  saw  no  one,  or  only  those  few  of  her  hus- 
band's male  companions  who  were  admitted  into  her  little  dining-room. 
These  were  all  charmed  with  her.  The  little  dinners,  the  laughing  and 
chatting,  the  music  afterwards,  delighted  all  who  participated  in  these 

14 


158 


VANITY    FAIR 


enjoyments.  Major  Martingale  never  thought  about  asking  to  see  the 
marriage  licence.  Captain  Cinqbars  was  perfectly  enchanted  with  her 
skill  in  making  punch.  And  young  Lieutenant  Spatterdash  (who  was 
fond  of  piquet,  and  whom  Crawley  would  often  invite)  was  evidently 
and  quickly  smitten  by  Mrs.  Crawley ;  but  her  own  circumspection 
and  modesty  never  forsook  her  for  a  moment,  and  Crawley's  reputa- 
tion as  a  fire-eating  and  jealous  warrior  was  a  further  and  complete 
defence  to  his  little  wife. 

There  are  gentlemen  of  very  good  blood  and  fashion  in  this  city, 
who  never  have  entered  a  lady's  drawing-room ;  so  that  though 
Rawdon  Crawley's  marriage  might  be  talked  about  in  his  county, 
where,  of  course,  Mrs.  Bute  had  spread  the  news,  in  London  it  was 
doubted,  or  not  heeded,  or  not  talked  about  at  all.  He  lived  com- 
fortably on  credit.  He  had  a  large  capital  of  debts,  which,  laid  out 
judiciously,  will  carry  a  man  along  for  many  years,  and  on  which 
certain  men  about  town  contrive  to  live  a  hundred  times  better  than 
even  men  with  ready  money  can  do.  Indeed,  who  is  there  that 
walks  London  streets,  but  can  point  out  a  half-dozen  of  men  riding 
by  him  splendidly,  while  he  is  on  foot,  courted  by  fashion,  bowed 
into  their  carriages  by  tradesmen,  denying  themselves  nothing,  and 
living  on  who  knows  what?  We  see  Jack  Thriftless  prancing  in 
the  Park,  or  darting  in  his  brougham  down  Pall  Mall :  we  eat  his 
dinners  served  on  his  miraculous  plate.  "  How  did  this  begin,"  we 
say,  "  or  where  will  it  end  1 "  "  My  dear  fellow,"  I  heard  Jack  once 
say,  "I  owe  money  in  every  capital  in  Europe."  The  end  must 
come  some  day,  but  in  the  meantime  Jack  thrives  as  much  as  ever ; 
people  are  glad  enough  to  shake  him  by  the  hand,  ignore  the  little 
dark  stories  that  are  whispered  every  now  and  then  against  him,  and 
pronounce  him  a  good-natured,  jovial,  reckless  fellow. 

Truth  obliges  us  to  confess  that  Rebecca  had  married  a  gentle- 
man of  this  order.  Everything  was  plentiful  in  his  house  but  ready 
money,  of  which  their  menage  pretty  early  felt  the  want ;  and  read- 
ing the  Gazette  one  day,  and  coming  upon  the  announcement  of 
"Lieutenant  C  Osborne  to  be  Captain  by  purchase,  vice  Smith, 
who  exchanges,"  Rawdon  uttered  that  sentiment  regarding  Ameha's 
lover,  which  ended  in  the  visit  to  Russell  Square. 

When  Rawdon  and  his  wife  wished  to  communicate  with  Captain 
Dobbin  at  the  sale,  and  to  know  particulars  of  the  catastrophe  which 
had  befallen  Rebecca's  old  acquaintances,  the  Captain  had  vanished ; 
and  such  information  as  they  got  was  from  a  stray  porter  or  broker 
at  the  auction. 

'  Look  at  them  with  their  hooked  beaks,"  Becky  said,  getting 
into  the  buggy,  her  picture  mider  her  arjoa.  in  great  glee.  "  They're 
like  vultures  after  a  battle,  n^^  p\M\i^ 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  iS9.^lM^ 

\ 

"  Don't  know.    Never  was  in  action,  my  dear.    Ask  Martingale ;  ^V^^  ^ 
he  was  in  Spain,  aide-de-camp  to  General  Blazes."  1    \i^^ 

"He  was  a  very  kind  old  man,  Mr.  Sedley,"  Rebecca  said;,^     "^     ^ 
"  I'm  really  sorry  he's  gone  wrong."  ^    ^>*'^ 

"  0  stockbrokers — bankrupts-^used  to  it,  you  know,"  Rawdon    o-*^ 
replied,  cutting  a  fly  off"  the  horse's  ear. 

"  I  wish  we  could  have  afforded  some  of  the  plate,  Rawdon," 
the  wife  continued  sentimentally.  Five-and-twenty  guineas  was 
monstrously  dear  for  that  little  piano.  We  chose  it  at  Broadwood's 
for  Amelia,  when  she  came  from  school.  It  only  cost  five-and- 
thirty  then." 

"  What  d'ye-call'em — '  Osborne,'  will  cry  off  now,  I  suppose,  since 
the  family  is  smashed.  How  cut  up  your  pretty  little  friend  will 
be;  hey,  Becky  1" 

"I  dare  say  she'll  recover  it,"  Becky  said,  with  a  smile — ^and 
they  drove  on  and  talked  about  something  else,      kax^^-'^c'-ij^o-^y 


[ 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IVHO  PLAYED  ON   THE  PIANO  CAPTAIN  DOBBIN  BOUGHT? 

OUR  surprised  story  now  finds  itself  for  a  moment  among  very 
famous  events  and  personages,  and  hanging  on  to  the  skirts 
of  history.  When  the  eagles  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the 
Corsican  upstart,  were  flying  from  Provence,  where  they  had  j)erched 
after  a  brief  sojourn  in  Elba,  and  from  steeple  to  steeple  until  they 
reached  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  I  wonder  whether  the  Imperial 
birds  had  any  eye  for  a  little  corner  of  the  parish  of  Bloomsbury, 
London,  which  you  might  have  thought  so  quiet,  that  even  the 
whirring  and  flapping  of  those  mighty  wings  would  pass  unob- 
served there  1 

"  Napoleon  has  landed  at  Cannes."  Such  news  might  create 
a  panic  at  Vienna,  and  cause  Russia  to  drop  his  cards,  and  take 
Prussia  into  a  corner,  and  Talleyrand  and  Metternich  to  wag  their 
heads  together,  while  Prince  Hardenberg,  and  even  the  present 
Marquis  of  Londonderry,  were  puzzled  ;  but  how  was  this  intelligence 
to  affect  a  young  lady  in  Russell  Square,  before  whose  door  the  watch- 
man sang  the  hours  when  she  was  asleep  :  who,  if  she  strolled  in  tlie 
square,  was  guarded  there  by  the  railings  and  the  beadle  :  who,  if 
she  walked  ever  so  short  a  distance  to  buy  a  ribbon  in  Southampton 
Row,  was  followed  by  Black  Sambo  with  an  enormous  cane :  who 
was  always  cared  for,  dressed,  put  to  bed,  and  watched  over  by  ever 
so  many  guardian  angels,  with  and  without  wages  1  Bon  Bieu,  I 
say,  is  it  not  hard  that  the  fateful  rush  of  the  great  Imperial  struggle 
can't  take  place  without  affecting  a  poor  little  harmless  girl  of 
eighteen,  who  is  occupied  in  billing  and  cooing,  or  working  muslin 
collars  in  Russell  Square  ?  You,  too,  kindly,  homely  flower ! — is 
the  gi'eat  roaring  war  tempest  coming  to  sweep  you  down,  here, 
although  cowering  under  the  shelter  of  Holbornl  Yes;  Napoleon 
is  flinging  his  last  stake,  and  poor  little  Emmy  Sedley's  happiness 
forms,  somehow,  part  of  it. 

In  the  first  place,  her  father's  fortune  was  swept  down  with  that 
fatal  news.  All  his  speculations  had  of  late  gone  wrong  with  the 
luckless  old  gentleman.  Ventures  had  failed;  merchants  had 
broken  ;  funds  had  risen  when  he  calculated  they  would  fall.     What 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  16^1 

need  to  particularise  %  If  success  is  rare  and  slow,  everybody  knows 
how  quick  and  easy  ruin  is.  Old  Sedley  had  kept  his  own  sad 
counsel.  Everything  seemed  to  go  on  as  usual  in  the  quiet,  opulent 
house ;  the  good-natured  mistress  pursuing,  quite  unsuspiciously,  her 
bustling  idleness,  and  daily  easy  arocations  ;  the  daughter  absorbed 
still  in  one  selfish,  tender  thought,  and  quite  regardless  of  adl  the 
world  besides,  when  that  final  crash  came,  under  which  the  worthy 
family  fell. 

One  night  Mrs.  Sedley  was  writing  cards  for  a  party ;  the 
Osbornes  had  given  one,  and  she  must  not  be  behindhand ;  John 
Sedley,  who  had  come  home  very  late  from  the  City,  sate  silen*  at 
the  chimney  side,  while  his  wife  was  prattling  to  him  ;  Ernmy  had 
gone  up  to  her  room  ailing  and  low-spirited.  "  She's  not  happy," 
the  mother  went  on.  "  George  Osborne  negleots  her.  I've  no 
patience  with  the  airs  of  those  people.  The  girls  have  not  been  in 
the  house  these  three  weeks ;  and  George  has  been  twice  in  town 
without  coming.  Edward  Dale  saw  him  at  the  Opera.  Edward 
would  maiTy  her,  I'm  sure :  and  there's  Captain  Dobbin  who,  I 
think,  would— only  I  hate  all  army  men.  Such  a  dandy  as  George 
has  become.  With  his  military  airs,  indeed  !  We  must  show  some 
folks  that  we're  as  good  as  they.  Only  give  Edward  Dale  any 
encouragement,  and  you'll  see.  We  must  have  a  party^  Mr.  S. 
Why  don't  you  speak,  John  %  Shall  I  say  Tuesday  iortnight  1 
Why  don't  you  answer  %     Good  God,  John,  what  has  happened  %  " 

John  Sedley  sprahg  up  out  of  his  chair  to  meet  his  wiiie,  who      ^ 

ran  to  him.  He  seized  her  in  his  arms,  and  said  with  a  hasty  voice,  Gj^^ 
"  We're  ruined,  Mary.  We've  got  the  world  to  begin  over  again,  dear.  '"\^:^ 
It's  best  that  you  should  know  all,  and  at  once."  As  he  spoke,  he 
trembled  in  every  limb,  and  almost  fell.  He  thought  the  news  would 
have  overpowered  his  wife — his  wife,  to  whom  he  had  never  said  a 
hard  word.  But  it  was  he  that  was  the  most  moved,  sudden  as  the 
shock  was  to  her.  When  he  sank  back  into  his  seat,  it  was  the  wife 
that  took  the  oflice  of  consoler.  She  took  his  trembling  hand,  and 
kissed  it,  and  put  it  round  her  neck :  she  called  him  her  John — 
her  dear  John — her  old  man — her  kind  old  man ;  she  poured  out  a 
hundred  words  of  incoherent  love  and  tenderness ;  her  faithful  voice 
and  simple  caresses  wrought  this  sad  heart  up  to  an  inexpressible 
delight  and  anguish,  and  cheered  and  solaced  his  overburdened  soul. 

Only  once  in  the  course  of  the  long  night  as  they  sate  together, 
and  poor  Sedley  opened  his  pent-up  soul,  and  told  the  story  of  his 
losses  and  embarrassments — the  treason  of  some  of  his  oldest  friends, 
the  manly  kindness  of  some,  from  whom  he  never  could  have  ex- 
pected it — in  a  general  confession — only  once  did  the  faithful  wife 
give  way  to  emotion.  rtjrM^vi^^, 

.^- 


^ 


\l  .L^ 


i62  VANITY    FAIR 

"  My  God,  my  God,  it  wiH  Ijreak  Emmy's  heart,"  she  said. 

The  father  had  forgotten  the  poor  girl.  She  was  lying,  awake 
and  unhappy,  overhead.  In  the  midst  of  friends,  home,  and  kind 
parents,  she  was  alone.  To  how  many  people  can  any  one  tell  all  ? 
Who  will  be  open  where  there  is  no  sympathy,  or  has  call  to  speak 
to  those  who  never  can  understand  ?  Our  gentle  Amelia  was  thus 
solitary.  She  had  no  confidante,  so  to  speak,  ever  since  she  had 
anything  to  confide.  She  could  not  tell  the  old  mother  her  doubts 
and  cares ;  the  would-be  sisters  seemed  every  day  more  strange  to  her. 
And  she  had  misgivings  and  fears  which  she  dared  not  acknowledge 
to  herself,  though  she  was  always  secretly  brooding  over  them. 

Her  heart  tried  to  persist  in  asserting  that  George  Osborne  was 
worthy  and  faithful  to  her,  though  she  knew  otherwise.  How 
many  a  thing  had  she  said,  and  goTno  echo  from  him.  How  many 
suspicions  of  selfishness  and  indifference  had  she  to  encounter  and 
obstinately  overcome.  To  whom  could  the  poor  little  martyr  tell 
these  daily  struggles  and  tortures?  Her  hero  himself  only  half 
understood  her.  She  did  not  dare  to  own  that  the  man  she  loved 
was  her  inferior ;  or  to  feel  that  she  had  given  her  heart  away  too 
soon.  Given  once,  the  pure  bashful  maiden  was  too  modest,  too 
tender,  too  trustful,  too  weak,  too  much  woman  to  recall  it.  We 
are  Turks  with  the  affections  of  our  women ;  and  have  made  them 
subscribe  to  our  doctrine  too.  We  let  their  bodies  go  abroad  liberally 
enough,  with  smiles  and  ringlets  and  pink  bonnets  to  disguise  them 
instead  of  veils  and  yakmaks.  But  their  souls  must  be  seen  by 
only  one  man,  and  they  obey  not  unwillingly,  and  consent  to  remain 
at  home  as  our  slaves — ministering  to  us  and  doing  drudgery  for  us. 

So  imprisoned  and  tortured  was  this  gentle  little  heart,  when 
in  the  month  of  March,  Anno  Domini  1815,  Napoleon  landed  at 
Cannes,  and  Louis  XVIII.  fled,  and  all  Europe  was  in  alarm,  and 
the  funds  fell,  and  old  John  Sedley  was  ruined. 

We  are  not  going  to  follow  the  worthy  old  stockbroker  through 
those  last  pangs  and  agonies  of  ruin  through  which  he  passed  before 
his  commercial  demise  befell.  They  declared  him  at  the  Stock 
Exchange ;  he  was  absent  from  his  house  of  business :  his  bills 
were  protested :  his  act  of  bankruptcy  formal.  The  house  and 
furniture  of  Russell  Square  were  seized  and  sold  up,  and  he  and 
his  family  were  thrust  away,  as  we  have  seen,  to  hide  their  heads 
where  they  might. 

John  Sedley  had  not  the  heart  to  review  the  domestic  estabhsh- 
ment  who  have  appeared  now  and  anon  in  our  pages,  and  of  whom 
he  was  now  forced  by  poverty  to  take  leave.  The  wages  of  those 
worthy  people  were  discharged  with  that  punctuality  which  men 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  163 

frequently  show  who  only  owe  in  great  sums — they  were  sorry  to 
leave  good  places — but  they  did  not  break  their  hearts  at  parting 
from  their  adored  master  and  mistress.  Amelia's  maid  was  profuse 
in  condolences,  but  went  off  quite  resigned  to  better  herself  in  a 
genteeler  quarter  of  the  town.  Black  Sambo,  with  the  infatuation 
of  his  profession,  determined  on  setting  up  a  public-house.  Honest 
old  Mrs.  Blenkinsop  indeed,  who  had  seen  the  birth  of  Jos  and 
Amelia,  and  the  wooing  of  John  Sedley  and  his  wife,  was  for  staying 
by  them  without  wages,  having  amassed  a  considerable  sum  in  their 
service ;  and  she  accompanied  the  fallen  people  into  their  new 
and  humble  place  of  refuge,  where  she  tended  them  and  grumbled 
against  them  for  a  while. 

Of  all  Sedley's  opponents  in  his  debates  with  his  creditors  which 
now  ensued,  and  harassed  the  feelings  of  the  humiliated  old  gentleman 
so  severely,  that  in  six  weeks  he  oldened  more  than  he  had  done  for 
fifteen  years  before — the  most  determined  and  obstinate  seemed  to  be 
John  Osborne,  his  old  friend  and  neighbour — John  Osborne,  whom  he 
had  set  up  in  life — who  was  under  a  hundred  obligations  to  him — and 
whose  son  was  to  marry  Sedley's  daughter.  Any  one  of  these  circum- 
stances would  account  for  the  bitterness  of  Osborne's  opposition.      — «^ 

When  one  man  has  been  under  very  remarkable  obligations  to  ^  1 
another,  with  whom  he  subsequently  quarrels,  a  common  sense  of 
decency,  as  it  were,  makes  of  the  former  a  much  severer  enemy  than 
a  mere  stranger  would  be.  To  account  for  your  own  hard-heartedness 
and  ingratitude  in  such  a  case,  you  are  bound  to  prove  the  other 
party's  crime.  It  is  not  that  you  are  selfish,  brutal,  and  angry  at 
the  failure  of  a  speculation — no,  no — it  is  that  your  partner  has  led  '^i 
you  into  it  by  the  basest  treachery  and  with  the  most  sinister  / 

motives.     From  a  mere  sense  of  consistency,  a  persecutor  is  bound  to        / 
show  that  the  fallen  man  is  a  villain — otherwise  he,  the  persecutor,    | 
is  a  wretch  himself  _J 

And  as  a  general  rule,  which  may  make  all  creditors  who  are 
inclined  to  be  severe  pretty  comfortable  in  their  minds,  no  men 
embarrassed  are  altogether  honest,  very  likely.     They  conceal  some- 
thing; they  exaggerate  chances  of  good  luck;  hide  away  the  real 
state  of  affairs ;  say  that  things  are  flourishing  when  they  are  hope-      V 
less ;  keep  a  smiling  face  (a  dreary  smile  it  is)  upon  the  verge  of       \ 
bankruptcy — are  ready  to  lay  hold  of  any  pretext  for  delay  or  of  any         \ 
money,  so  as  to  stave  off  the  inevitable  ruin  a  few  days  longer. 
"Down  with  such  dishonesty,"  says  the  creditor  in  triumph,  and 
reviles  his  sinking  enemy.    "  You  fool,  why  do  you  catch  at  a  straw? " 
calm  good  sense  says  to  the  man  that  is  drowning.     "  Yoft  villain, 
why  do  you  shrink  from  plunging  into  the  irretrievable  Gazette?" 
says  prosperity  to  the  poor  devil  battling  in  that  black  gulf.     Who 


i64  VANITY    FAIR 

has  not  remarked  the  leadiness  with  which  the  closest  of  friends  and 
honestest  of  men  suspect  and  accuse  each  other  of  cheating  when  they 
tall  out  on  money  matters  1  Everybody  does  it.  Everybody  is  right, 
I  suppose,  and  the  world  is  a  rogue. 

Then  Osborne  had  the  intolerable  sense  of  former  benefits  to  goad 
and  irritate  him  :  these  are  always  a  cause  of  hostility  aggravated. 
Finally,  he  had  to  break  oflf  the  match  between  Sedley's  daughter 
and  his  son ;  and  as  it  had  gone  very  far  indeed,  and  as  the  poor 
girl's  happiness  and  perhaps  character  were  compromised,  it  was 
Jiecessary  to  show  the  strongest  reasons  for  the  rupture,  and  for  John 
Osborne  to  prove  John  Sedley  to  be  a  very  bad  character  indeed. 

At  the  meetings  of  creditors,  then,  he  comported  himself  with  a 
sayageness  and  scorn  towards  Sedley,  which  almost  succeeded  in 
breaking  the  heart  of  that  ruined  bankrupt  man.  On  George's  inter- 
course wi4;h  Amelia  he  put  an  instant  veto — menacing  the  youth  with 
maledictions  if  he  broke  his  commands,  and  vilipending  the  poor 
innocent  girl  as  the  basest  and  most  artful  of  vixens.  One  of  the 
great  conditions  of  anger  and  hatred  is,  that  you  must  tell  and  believe 
lies  against  the  hated  object,  in  order,  as  we  said,  to  be  consistent. 

When  the  great  crash  came — the  announcement  of  ruin,  and  the 
departure  from  Russell  Square,  and  the  declaration  that  all  was  over 
between  her  and  George — all  over  between  her  and  love,  her  and 
happiness,  her  and  faith  in  the  world — a  brutal  letter  from  John 
Osborne  told  her  in  a  few  curt  lines  that  her  father's  conduct  had 
been  of  such  a  nature  that  all  engagements  between  the  families  were 
at  an  end  — when  the  final  award  came,  it  did  not  shock  her  so  much 
as  her  parents,  as  her  mother  rather  expected  (for  John  Sedley  him- 
self was  entirely  prostrate  in  the  ruins  of  his  own  affairs  and  shattered 
honour).  Amelia  took  the  news  very  palely  and  calmly.  It  was 
only  the  confirmation  of  the  dark  presages  which  had  long  gone  before. 
It  was  the  mere  reading  of  the  sentence — of  the  crime  she  had  long 
ago  been  guilty— the  crime  of  loving  wrongly,  too  violently,  against 
reason.  She  told  no  more  of  her  thoughts  now  than  she  had  before. 
She  seemed  scarcely  more  unhappy  now  when  convinced  all  hope  was 
over,  than  before  when  she  felt  but  dared  not  confess  that  it  was  gone. 
So  she  changed  from  the  large  house  to  the  small  one  without  any 
mark  or  dift'erence ;  remained  in  her  little  room  for  the  most  part ; 
pined  silently ;  and  died  away  day  by  day.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  all  females  are  so.  My  dear  Miss  Bullock,  I  do  not  think  your 
heart  would  break  in  this  way.  You  are  a  strong-minded  young 
woman  with  proper  principles.  I  do  not  venture  to  say  that  mine 
would ;  tt  has  suffered,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  survived.  But 
there  are  some  souls  thus  gently  constituted,  thus  frail,  and  delicate, 
and  tender. 


4   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  165 

Whenever  old  John  Sedley  thought  of  fhe  aft'air  between  George 
and  Amelia,  or  alluded  to  it,  it  was  with  bitterness  almost  as  great  as 
Mr.  Osborne  himself  had  shown.  He  cursed  Osborne  and  his  family 
as  heartless,  wicked,  and  ungrateful.  No  power  on  earth,  he  swore, 
would  induce  him  to  marry  his  dau^ter  to  the  son  of  such  a  villain, 
and  he  ordered  Emmy  to  banish  George  fiom  her  mind,  and  to  return 
all  the  presents  and  letters  which  she  had  ever  had  from  him. 

She  promised  acquiescence,  and  tried  to  obey.  She  put  up  the 
two  or  three  trinkets :  and,  as  for  the  letters,  she  drew  them  out  of 
the  place  where  she  kept  them ;  and  read  them  over — as  if  she  did 
not  knew  them  by  heart  already  :  but  she  could  not  part  with  them. 
That  effort  was  too  much  for  her;  she  placed  them  back  in  her 
bosom  again — as  yqu  have  seen  a  woman  nurse  a  child  that  is  dead. 
Young  Amelia  felt  that  she  would  die  or  lose  her  senses  outright,  if 
torn  away  from  this  last  consolation.  How  she  used  to  blush  and 
lighten  up  when  those  letters  came !  How  she  used  to  trip  awa^' 
with  a  beating  heart,  so  that  she  might  read  unseen  !  If  they  were 
cold,  yet  how  perversely  this  fond  little  soul  interpreted  them  into 
warmth.  If  they  were  short  or  selfish,  what  excuses  she  found  for 
the  writer ! 

It  was  over  these  few  worthless  papers  that  she  brooded  and 
brooded.  She  lived  in  her  past  life — every  letter  seemed  to  recall 
some  circumstance  of  it.  How  well  she  remembered  them  all !  His 
looks  and  tones,  his  dress,  what  he  said  and  how— these  relics  and  re- 
membrances of  dead  affection  were  all  that  were  left  her  in  the  world. 
And  the  business  of  her  life,  was — to^watch  the.  corpse  of  Love.        — 7^ 

To  death  she  looked  with  inexpressible  longing.  Then,  she 
thought,  I  shall  always  be  able  to  follow  him.  I  am  not  praising 
her  conduct  or  setting  her  up  as  a  model  for  Miss  Bullock  to  miitate. 
Miss  B.  knows  how  to  regulate  her  feelings  better  than  this  poor 
little  creature.  Miss  B.  would  never  have  committed  herself  as  that 
impmdent  Amelia  had  done;  pledged  her  love  irretrievably;  con- 
fessed her  heart  away,  and  got  back  nothing — only  a  brittle  promise 
which  was  snapped  and  worthless  in  a  moment.  A  long  engagement 
is  a  partnership  which  one  party  is  free  to  keep  or  to  break,  but 
which  involves  all  the  capital  of  the  other. 

Be  cautious  then,  young  ladies ;  be  wary  how  you  engage.  Be 
shy  of  loving  frankly ;  never  tell  all  you  feel,  or  (a  better  way  still) 
feel  very  little.  See  the  consequences  of  being  prematurely  honest 
and  confiding,  and  mistrust  yourselves  and  everybody.  Get  your- 
selves married  as  they  do  in  France,  where  the  lawyers  are  the 
bridesmaids  and  confidantes.  At  any  rate,  never  have  any  feelings 
which  may  make  you  imcomfortable,  or  make  any  promises  which 
you  cannot  at  any  required  moment  command  and  withdraw.     That 


/ 


i66  VANITY    FAIR 

Js_the  way  to  get  on,  and  be  respected,  and  have  a  virtuous  character 
■  in  Vanity  Fair. 

If  Amelia  could  have  heard  the  comments  regarding  her  which 
were  made  in  the  circle  from  which  her  father's  ruin  had  just  driven 
her,  she  would  have  seen  what  her  own  crimes  were,  and  how  entirely 
.  her  character  was  jeopardised.  Such  criminal  imprudence  Mrs. 
/  Smith  never  knew  of;  such  horrid  familiarities  Mrs.  Brown  had 
always  condemned,  and  the  end  might  be  a  warning  to  her  daughters. 
"Captain  Osborne,  of  course,  could  not  marry  a  bankrupt's  daughter," 
the  Misses  Dobbin  said.  "It  was  quite  enough  to  have  been 
swindled  by  the  father.  As  for  that  little  Amelia,  her  folly  had 
really  passed  all " 

"  All  what  % "  Captain  Dobbin  roared  out.  "  Haven't  they  been 
engaged  ever  since  they  were  children  %  Wasn't  it  as  good  as  a  mar- 
riage %  Dare  any  soul  on  earth  breathe  a  word  against  the  sweetest, 
the  purest,  the  tenderest,  the  most  angelical  of  young  women  % " 

"La,  William,  don't  be  so  highty-tighty  with  U8.  We're  not 
men.  We  can't  fight  you,"  Miss  Jane  said.  "  We've  said  nothing 
against  Miss  Sedley :  but  that  her  conduct  throughout  was  mnost 
imprudent,  not  to  call  it  by  any  worse  name ;  and  that  her  parents 
are  people  who  certainly  merit  their  misfortunes." 

"  Hadn't  you  better,  now  that  Miss  Sedley  is  free,  propose  for 
her  yourself,  William  % "  Miss  Ann  asked  sarcastically.  "  It  would 
be  a  most  eligible  family  connection.     He  !  he  !  " 

"  I  marry  her  !  "  Dobbin  said,  blushing  very  much,  and  talking 
quick.  "  If  you  are  so  ready,  young  ladies,  to  chop  and  change,  do 
you  suppose  that  she  is  %  Laugh  and  sneer  at  that  angel.  She  can't 
hear  it;  and  she's  miserable  and  unfortunate,  and  deserves  to  be 
laughed  at.  Go  on  joking,  Ann.  You're  the  wit  of  the  family, 
and  the  others  like  to  hear  it." 

"  I  must  tell  you  again  we're  not  in  a  barrack,  William,"  Miss 
Ann  remarked. 

"  In  a  barrack,  by  Jove — I  wish  anybody  in  a  barrack  would 
say  what  you  do,"  cried  out  this  uproused  British  lion.  "  I  should 
like  to  hear  a  "man  breathe  a  word  against  her,  by  Jupiter.  But 
men  don't  talk  in  this  way,  Ann  :  it's  only  women,  who  get  together 
and  hiss,  and  shriek,  and  cackle.  There,  get  away — don't  begin  to 
cry.  I  only  said  you  were  a  couple  of  geese,"  Will  Dobbin  said, 
perceiving  Miss  Ann's  pink  eyes  were  beginning  to  moisten  as  usual. 
"  Well,  you're  not  geese,  you're  swans — anything  you  like,  only  do, 
do  leave  Miss  Sedley  alone." 

Anything  like  William's  infatuation  about  that  silly  little  flirt- 
ing, ogling  thing  was  never  known,  the  mamma  and  sisters  agreed 
together  in  thinking :  and  they  trembled  lest,  her  engagement  being 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  167 

off  with  Osborne,  she  should  take  up  immediately  her  other  admirer 
and  Captain.  In  which  forebodings  these  worthy  young  women  no 
doubt  judged  according  to  the  best  of  their  experience;  or  rather 
(for  as  yet  they  had  had  no  opportunities  of  marrying  or  of  jilting) 
according  to  their  own  notions  of  right  and  wrong. 

"  It  is  a  mercy,  mamma,  that  the  regiment  is  ordered  abroad," 
the  girls  said.     "  This  danger,  at  any  rate,  is  spared  our  brother." 

Such,  indeed,  was  the  fact ;  and  so  it  is  that  the  French  Emperor 
comes  in  to  perform  a  part  in  this  domestic  comedy  of  Vanity  Fair 
which  we  are  now  playing,  and  which  would  never  have  been 
enacted  without  the  intervention  of  this  august  mute  personage. 
It  was  he  that  ruined  the  Bourbons  and  Mr.  John  Sedley.  It  was 
he  whose  arrival  in  his  capital  called  up  all  France  in  arms  to  defend 
him  there ;  and  all  Europe  to  oust  him.  While  the  French  nation 
and  army  were  swearing  fidelity  round  the  eagles  in  the  Champ  de 
Mars,  four  mighty  European  hosts  were  getting  in  motion  for  the 
great  chasse  a  Vaigle ;  and  one  of  these  was  a  British  army,  of 
which  two  heroes  of  ours,  Captain  Dobbin  and  Captain  Osborne, 
formed  a  portion. 

The  news  of  Napoleon's  escape  and  landing  was  received  by  the 
gallant  — th  with  a  fiery  delight  and  enthusiasm,  which  everybody 
can  understand  who  knows  that  famous  corps.  From  the  colonel 
to  the  smallest  dmmmer  in  the  regiment,  all  were  filled  with  hope 
and  ambition  and  patriotic  fury ;  and  thanked  the  French  Emperor 
as  for  a  personal  kindness  in  coming  to  disturb  the  peace  of  Europe. 
Now  was  the  time  the  — th  had  so  long  panted  for,  to  show  their 
comrades  in  arms  that  they  could  fight  as  well  as  the  Peninsular 
veterans,  and  that  all  the  pluck  and  valour  of  the  — th  had  not 
been  killed  by  the  West  Indies  and  the  yellow  fever.  Stubble  and 
Spooney  looked  to  get  their  companies  without  purchase.  Before 
the  end  of  the  campaign  (which  she  resolved  to  share),  Mrs.  Major 
O'Dowd  hoped  to  write  herself  Mrs.  Colonel  O'Dowd,  C.B.  Our 
two  friends  (Dobbin  and  Osborne)  were  quite  as  much  excited  as 
the  rest:  and  each  in  his  way — Mr.  Dobbin  very  quietly,  Mr. 
Osborne  very  loudly  and  energetically — was  bent  upon  doing  his 
duty,  and  gaining  his  share  of  honour  and  distinction. 

The  agitation  thriUing  through  the  country  and  army  in  con- 
sequence of  this  news  was  so  great,  that  private  matters  were  little 
heeded :  and  hence  probably  George  Osborne,  just  gazetted  to  his 
company,  busy  with  preparations  for  the  march,  which  must  come 
inevitably,  and  panting  for  further  promotion — was  not  so  much 
affected  by  other  incidents  which  would  have  interested  him  at  a 
more  quiet  period.  He  was  not,  it  must  be  confessed,  very  much 
cast^down  by  good  old  Mr.  Sedley's  catastrophe.     He  tried  his  new 


i68  VANITY    FAIR 

uniform,  which  became  him  very  handsomely,  on  the  day  when  the 
first  meeting  of  the  creditors  of  the  unfortmiate  gentleman  took 
place.  His  father  told  him  of  the  wicked,  rascally,  shameful  con- 
duct of  the  bankrupt,  reminded  him  of  what  he  had  said  about 
Amelia,  and  that  their  connection  was  broken  off  for  ever;  and 
gave  him  that  evening  a  good  sum  of  money  to  pay  for  the  new 
clothes  and  epaulets  in  which  he  looked  so  well.  Money  was  always 
useful  to  this  free-handed  yx)ung  fellow,  and  he  took  it  without  many 
words.  The  bills  were  up  in  the  Sedley  house,  where  he  had  passed 
so  many,  many  happy  hours.  He  could  see  them  as  he  walked 
from  home  that  night  (to  the  Old  Slaughters',  where  he  put  up 
when  in  town)  shining  white  in  the  moon.  That  comfortable  home 
was  shut  then,  upon  Amelia  and  her  parents  :  where  had  the^  taken 
refuge  1  The  thought  of  their  ruin  affected  him  not  a  little.  He 
was  very  melancholy  that  night  in  the  coffee-room  at  the  Slaughters' ; 
and  drank  a  good  deal,  as  his  comrades  remarked  there. 

Dobbin  came  in  presently,  cautioned  him  about  the  drink,  which 
he  only  took,  he  said,  because  he  was  deuced  low ;  but  when  his  friend 
began  to  put  to  him  clumsy  inquiries,  amd  asked  him  for  news  in  a 
signiiicai>t  manner,  Osborne  declined  entering  into  conversation  with 
him  ;  avowing,  however,  that  he  was  devilish  disturbed  and  unhappy. 

Three  days  afterwards,  Dobbin  found  Osborne  in  his  room  at  the 
barracks : — his  head  on  the  table,  a  n-umber  of  papers  about,  the 
young  Captain  evidently  in  a  state  of  great  despondency.  "  She — 
she's  sent  me  back  some  things  I  gave  her — some  damned  trinkets. 
Look  here  ! "  There  was  a  little  packet  directed  in  the  well-known 
hand  to  Captain  George  Osborne,  and  some  things  lying  about — a  ring, 
a  silver  knife  he  had  bought,  as  a  boy,  for  her  at  a  fair ;  a  gold  chain, 
and  a  locket  with  hair  in  it.  "  It's  all  over,"  said  he,  with  a  groan 
of  sickening  remorse.     "Look,  Will,  you  may  read  it  if  you  like." 

There  was  a  little  letter  of  a  few  lines,  to  which  he  pointed, 
which  said : — 

"  My  papa  has  ordered  me  to  return  to  you  these  presents,  which 
you  made  in  happier  days  to  me ;  and  I  am  to  write  to  you  for  the 
last  time.  I  think,  I  know  you  feel  as  much  as  I  do  the  blow  which 
has  come  upon  us.  It  is  I  that  absolve  you  from  an  engagement 
which  is  impossible  in  our  present  misery.  I  am  sure  you  had  no 
share  in  it,  or  in  the  cruel  suspicions  of  Mr.  Osborne,  which  are  the 
hardest  of  all  our  griefs  to  bear.  Farewell.  Farewell.  I  pray  Got! 
to  strengthen  me  to  bear  this  and  other  calamities,  and  to  bless  you 
always.  A. 

**  I  shall  often  play  upon  the  piano — your  piano.  It  was  like 
you  to  send  it." 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  169 

Dobbin  was  very  soft-hearted.     The  sight  of  women  and  children  '^ 

in  pain  always  used  to  melt  him.  The  idea  of  Amelia  broken-hearted  | 
and  lonely,  tore  that  good-natured  soul  with  anguish.  And  he  broke 
out  into  an  emotion,  which  anybody  who  likes  may  consider  unmanly. 
He  swore  that  Amelia  was  an  angel^  to  which  Osborne  saad  ay  with 
all  his  heart.  He,  too,  had  been  reviewing  the  history  of  their  lives 
— and  had  seen  her  from  her  childhood  to  her  present  age,  so  sweet, 
so  innocent,  so  charmingly  simple,  and  artlessly  fond  and  tender. 

What  a  pang  it  was  to  lose  all  that :  to  have  had  it  and  not 
prized  it !  A  thousand  homely  scenes  and  recollections  crowded  on 
him — in  which  he  alM^ays  saw  her  good  and  beautiful.  And  for  him- 
self, he  blushed  with  remorse  and  shame,  as  the  remembrance  of  his 
own  selfishness  and  indifference  contrasted  with  that  perfect  purity. 
For  a  while,  glory,  war,  everything  was  forgotten,  and  the  pair  of 
friends  talked  about  her  only. 

"  Where  are  they  1 "  Osborne  asked,  after  a  long  talk,  and  a  long 
pause, — and,  in  truth,  with  no  little  shame  at  thinking  that  he  had 
taken  no  steps  to  follow  her.  "  Where  are  they  1  There's  no  address 
to  the  note." 

Dobbin  knew.  He  had  not  m_erely  sent  the  piano;  but  had 
written  a  note  to  Mrs.  Sedley,  and  asked  permission  to  come  and 
see  her, — and  he  had  seen  her,  and  Amelia  too,  yesterday,  before  he 
came  down  to  Chatham ;  and,  what  is  more,  he  had  brought  that 
farewell  letter  and  packet  which  had  so  moved  them. 

The  good-natured  fellow  had  found  Mrs.  Sedley  only  too  willing 
to  receive  him,  and  greatly  agitated  by  the  arrival  of  the  piano, 
which,  as  she  conjectured,  must  have  come  from  George,  and  was  a 
signal  of  amity  on  his  part.  Captain  Dobbin  did  not  correct  this 
error  of  the  worthy  lady,  but  listened  to  all  her  story  of  complaints 
and  misfortunes  with  great  sympathy — condoled  with  her  losses  and 
privations,  and  agreed  in  reprehending  the  cruel  conduct  of  Mr. 
Osborne  towards  his  first  benefactor.  When  she  had  eased  her  over- 
flowing bosom  somewhat,  and  poured  forth  many  of  her  sorrows,  he 
liad  the  courage  to  ask  actually  to  see  Amelia,  who  was  above  in  her 
room  as  usual,  and  whom  her  mother  led  trembling  downstairs. 

Her  appearance  was  so  ghastly,  and  her  look  of  despair  so 
pathetic,  that  honest  William  Dobbin  was  frightened  as  he  beheld 
it ;  and  read  the  most  fatal  forebodings  in  that  pale  fixed  face. 
After  sitting  in  his  company  a  minute  or  two,  she  put  the  packet 
into  his  hand,  and  said,  "Take  this  to  Captain  Osborne,  if  you 
please,  and — and  I  hope  he's  quite  well — and  it  was  very  kind  of 
you  to  come  and  see  us — and  we  like  our  new  house  very  much. 
And  I~I  think  I'll  go  upstairs,  mamma,  for  I'm  not  very  strong." 
And  with  this,  and  a  ciurtsey  and  a  smile,  the  poor  child  went  her 


I70  VANITY    FAIR 

way.  The  mother,  as  she  led  her  up,  cast  back  looks  of  anguish 
towards  Dobbin.  The  good  fellow  wanted  no  such  appeal.  He 
loved  her  himself  too  fondly  for  that.  Inexpressible  grief,  and  pity, 
and  terror  pursued  him,  and  he  came  away  as  if  he  was  a  criminal 
after  seeing  her. 

When  Osborne  heard  that  his  friend  had  found  her,  he  made  hot 
and  anxious  inquiries  regarding  the  poor  child.  How  was  she? 
How  did  she  look?  What  did  she  say?  His  comrade  took  his 
hand,  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

"  George,  she's  dying,"  William  Dobbin  said, — and  could  speak 
no  more. 

There  was  a  buxom  Irish  servant-girl,  who  performed  all  the 
duties  of  the  little  house  where  the  Sediey  family  had  found  refiige ; 
and  this  girl  had  in  vain,  on  many  previous  days,  striven  to  give 
Amelia  aid  or  consolation.  Emmy  was  much  too  sad  to  answer,  or 
even  to  be  aware  of  the  attempts  the  other  was  making  in  her 
favour. 

Four  hours  after  the  talk  between  Dobbin  and  Osborne,  this 
servant-maid  came  into  Amelia's  room,  where  she  sate  as  usual, 
brooding  silently  over  her  letters — her  little  treasures.  The  girl, 
smiling,  and  looking  arch  and  happy,  made  many  trials  to  attract 
poor  Emmy's  attention,  who,  however,  took  no  heed  of  her. 

"  Miss  Emmy,"  said  the  girl. 

"  I'm  coming,"  Emmy  said,  not  looking  round. 

"  There's  a  message,"  the  maid  went  on.  "  There's  something 
— somebody— sure,  here's  a  new  letter  for  you — don't  be  reading 
them  old  ones  any  more."  And  she  gave  her  a  letter,  which  Emmy 
took,  and  read. 

"I  must  see  you,"  the  letter  said.  "Dearest  Emmy — dearest 
love — dearest  wife,  come  to  me." 

George  and  her  mother  were  outside,  waiting  until  she  had  read 
the  letter.  ^ 


^^     ^ 


J" 
CHAPTER  XIX 

MISS    CRAWLEY   AT  NURSE 

WE  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Firkin,  the  lady's-maid,  as  soon  as 
any  event  of  importance  to  the  Crawley  family  came  to 
her  knowledge,  felt  bound  to  communicate  it  to  Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley,  at  the  Rectory  ;  and  have  before  mentioned  how  particu- 
larly kind  and  attentive  that  good-natured  lady  was  to  Miss  Crawley's 
confidential  servant.  She  had  been  a  gracious  friend  to  Miss  Briggs, 
the  companion,  also ;  and  had  secured  the  latter's  good-will  by  a 
number  of  those  attentions  and  promises,  which  cost  so  little  in 
the  making,  and  are  yet  so  valuable  and  agreeable  to  the  recipient. 
Indeed  every  good  economist  and  manager  of  a  household  must  know 
how  cheap  and  yet  how  amiable  these  professions  are,  and  what  a 
flavour  they  give  to  the  most  homely  dish  in  life.  Who  was  the 
blundering  idiot  who  said  that  "  fine  words  butter  no  parsnips  "  ? 
Half  the  parsnips  of  society  are  served  and  rendered  palatable  with 
no  other  sauce.  As  the  immortal  Alexis  Soyer  can  make  more 
dehcious  soup  for  a  halfpenny  than  an  ignorant  cook  can  concoct 
with  pounds  of  vegetables  and  meat,  so  a  skilful  artist  will  make 
a  few  simple  and  pleasing  phrases  go  farther  than  ever  so  much 
substantial  benefit-stock  in  the  hands  of  a  mere  bungler.  Nay,  we 
know  that  substantial  benefits  often  sicken  some  stomachs ;  whereas, 
most  will  digest  any  amount  of  fine  words,  and  be  always  eager  for 
more  of  the  same  food.  Mrs.  Bute  had  told  Briggs  and  Firkin  so 
often  of  the  depth  of  her  affection  for  them ;  and  what  she  would 
do,  if  she  had  Miss  Crawley's  fortune,  for  friends  so  excellent  and 
attached,  that  the  ladies  in  question  had  the  deepest  regard  for  her ; 
and  felt  as  much  gratitude  and  confidence  as  if  Mrs.  Bute  had  loaded 
them  with  the  most  expensive  favours. 

Rawdon  Crawley,  on  the  other  hand,  like  a  selfish  heavy  dragoon 
as  he  was,  never  took  the  least  trouble  to  conciliate  his  aunt's  aides- 
de-camp,  showed  his  contempt  for  the  pair  with  entire  frankness — 
made  Firkin  pull  off  his  boots  on  one  occasion — sent  her  out  in  the 
rain  on  ignominious  messages — and  if  he  gave  her  a  guinea,  flimg  it 
to  her  as  if  it  were  a  box  on  the  ear.  As  his  aunt,  too.  made  a 
butt  of  Briggs,  the  Captain  followed  the  example,  and  levelled  his 


172  VANITY    FAIR 

jokes  at  her — ^jokes  about  as  delicate  as  a  kick  from  his  charger. 
VV^hereas,  Mrs.  Bute  consulted  her  in  matters  of  taste  or  difficulty, 
admired  her  poetry,  and  by  a  thousand  acts  of  kindness  and  polite- 
ness, showed  her  appreciation  of  Briggs ;  and  if  she  made  Firkin  a 
twopenny-halfpenny  present,  accompanied  it  with  so  many  compli- 
ments, that  the  twopence-halfpenny  was  transmuted  into  gold  in  the 
heart  of  the  grateful  waiting-maid,  who,  besides,  was  looking  forward 
f[nite  contentedly  to  some  prodigious  benefit  which  must  happen  to 
lier  on  the  day  when  Mrs.  Bute  came  into  her  fortune. 

The  different  conduct  of  these  two  people  is  pointed  out  respect- 
fully to  the  attention  of  persons  commencing  the  world.  Praise 
everybody,  I  say  to  such :  never  be  squeamish,  but  speak  out  your 
compliment  both  point-blank  in  a  man's  face,  and  behind  his  back, 
when  you  know  there  is  a  reasonable  chance  of  his  hearing  it  again. 
Never  lose  a  chance  of  saying  a  kind  word.  As  Collingwood  never 
saw  a  vacant  place  in  his  estate  but  he  took  an  acorn  out  of  his 
pocket  and  popped  it  in ;  so  deal  with  your  compliments  through 
life.  An  acorn  costs  nothing ;  but  it  may  sprout  into  a  prodigious 
bit  of  timber. 

In  a  word,  during  Rawdon  Crawley's  prosperity,  he  was  only 
obeyed  with  sulky  acquiescence ;  when  his  disgrace  came,  there  was 
nobody  to  help  or  pity  him.  Whereas,  when  Mrs.  Bute  took  tlie 
command  at  Miss  Crawley's  house,  the  garrison  there  were  charmed 
to  act  under  such  a  leader,  expecting  all  sorts  of  promotion  from  her 
promises,  her  generosity,  and  her  kind  words. 

That  he  would  consider  himself  beaten,  after  one  defeat,  and  make 
no  attempt  to  regain  the  position  he  had  lost,  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley 
never  allowed  herself  to  suppose.  She  knew  Rebecca  to  be  too 
clever,  and  spirited,  and  desperate  a  woman  to  submit  without  a 
struggle ;  and  felt  that  she  must  prepare  for  that  combat,  and  be 
incessantly  watchful  against  assault,  or  mine,  or  surprise. 

In  the  first  place,  though  she  held  the  town,  was  she  sure  of  the 
principal  inhabitant  1  Would  Miss  Crawley  herself  hold  out ;  and 
had  she  not  a  secret  longing  to  welcome  back  the  ousted  adversary  1 
The  old  lady  liked  Rawdon,  and  Rebecca,  who  amused  her.  Mrs. 
Bute  could  not  disguise  from  herself  the  fact  that  none  of  her  party 
could  so  contribute  to  the  pleasures  of  the  town-bred  lady.  "  My 
girls'  singing,  after  that  little  odious  governess's,  I  know  is  unbear- 
able," the  candid  Rector's  wife  o^vned  to  herself.  "  She  always  used 
to  go  to  sleep  when  Martha  and  Louisa  played  their  duets.  Jim's 
stiff  college  manners,  and  poor  dear  Bute's  talk  about  his  dogs  and 
horses,  ailways  annoyed  her.  If  I  took  her  to  the  Rectory,  she  would 
grow  angry  with  us  all,  and  fly,  I  know  she  would  ;  and  might  fall 
into  that  horrid  Rawdon's  clutches  a^ain,  and  be  the  victim  of  that 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  173 

little  viper  of  a  Sharp.  Meanwhile,  it  is  clear  to  me  that  she  is 
exceedingly  unwell,  and  cannot  move  for  some  weeks,  at  any  rate ; 
during  which  we  must  think  of  some  plan  to  protect  her  from  the 
arts  of  those  unprincipled  people." 

In  the  very  best  of  moments,  if  anybody  told  Miss  Crawley  that 
she  was,  or  looked  ill,  the  trembling  old  lady  sent  off  for  her  doctor  ; 
and  I  dare  say  she  was  very  unwell  after  the  sudden  family  event, 
which  might  serve  to  shake  stronger  nerves  than  hers.  At  least, 
Mrs.  Bute  thought  it  was  her  duty  to  inform  the  physician,  and  the 
apothecary,  and  the  dame  de  compagnie,  and  the  domestics,  that  Miss 
Crawley  was  in  a  most  critical  state,  and  that  they  were  to  act  accord- 
ingly. She  had  the  street  laid  knee-deep  with  straw ;  and  the  knocker 
put  by  with  Mr.  Bowls's  plate.  She  insisted  that  the  doctor  should 
call  twice  a  day  ;  and  deluged  her  patient  with  draughts  every  two 
hours.  When  anybody  entered  the  room,  she  uttered  a  shshshsh  so 
sibilant  and  ominous,  that  it  frightened  the  poor  old  lady  in  her  bed, 
from  which  she  could  not  look  without  seeing  Mrs.  Bute's  beady  eyes 
eagerly  fixed  on  her,  as  the  latter  sate  steadfast  in  the  arm-chair  by 
the  bedside.  They  seemed  to  lighten  in  the  dark  (for  she  kept  the 
curtains  closed)  as  she  moved  about  the  room  on  velvet  paws  like  a 
cat.  There  Miss  Crawley  lay  for  days — ever  so  many  days — Mrs. 
Bute  reading  books  of  devotion  to  her  :  for  nights,  long  nights,  during 
which  she  had  to  hear  the  watchman  sing,  the  night-light  sputter ; 
visited  at  midnight,  the  last  thing,  by  the  stealthy  apothecary ;  and 
then  left  to  look  at  Mrs.  Bute's  twinkling  eyes,  or  the  flicks  of  yellow 
that  the  rushlight  threw  on  the  dreary  darkened  ceiling.  Hygeia 
herself  would  have  fallen  sick  under  such  a  regimen ;  and  how  much 
more  this  poor  old  nervous  victim  ?  It  has  been  said  that  when  she 
was  in  health  and  good  spirits,  this  venerable  inhabitant  of  Vanity 
Fair  had  as  free  notions  about  religion  and  morals  as  Monsieur  de 
Voltaire  himself  could  desire,  but  when  illness  overtook  her,  it 
was  aggravated  by  the  most  dreadfril  terrors  of  death,  and  an  utter 
cowardice  took  possession  of  the  prostrate  old  sinner. 

Sick-bed  homilies  and  pious  reflections  are,  to  be  sure,  out  of 
place  in  mere  story-books,  and  we  are  not  going  (after  the  fashion  of 
some  novelists  of  the  present  day)  to  cajole  the  public  into  a  sermon, 
when  it  is  only  a  comedy  that  the  reader  pays  his  money  to  witness. 
But,  without  preaching,  the  truth  may  surely  be  borne  in  mind,  that 
the  bustle,  and  triumph,  and  laughter,  and  gaiety  which  Vanity  Fair 
exhibits  in  public,  do  not  always  pursue  the  performer  into  private 
life,  and  that  the  most  dreary  depression  of  spirits  and  dismal  repent- 
ances sometimes  overcome  him.  Recollection  of  the  best-ordained 
banquets  will  scarcely  cheer  sick  epicures.  Reminiscences  of  the  most 
becoming  dresses  and  brilliant  ball-triumphs  wiU  go  very  little  way 

15 


174  VANITY   FAIR 

to  console  faded  beauties.     Perhaps  statesmen,  at  a  particular  period 
of  existence,  are  not  much  gratified  at  thinking  over  the  most  trium- 
phant divisions ;  and  the  success  or  the  pleasure  of  yesterday  becomes 
of  very  small  account  when  a  certain  (albeit  uncertain)  morrow  is  in 
view,  about  which  all  of  us  must  some  day  or  other  be  speculating. 
0  brother  wearers  of  motley  !    Are  there  not  moments  when  one  grows 
I  sick  of  grinning  and  tumbling,  and  the  jingling  of  cap  and  bells  ?   This, 
/  dear  friends  and  companions,  is  my  amiable  object — to  walk  with  you 
/    through  the  Fair,  to  examine  the  shops  and  the  shows  there ;  and 
that  we  should  all  come  home  after  the  flare,  and  the  noise,  and  the 
I    gaiety,  and  be  perfectly  miserable  in  private. 

"  If  that  poor  man  of  mine  had  a  head  on  his  shoulders,"  Mrs. 
Bute  Crawley  thought  to  herself,  "  how  useful  he  might  be,  under 
present  circumstances,  to  this  unhappy  old  lady  !  He  might  make 
her  repent  of  her  shocking  free-thinking  ways  ;  he  might  urge  her  to 
do  her  duty,  and  cast  off  that  odious  reprobate  who  has  disgraced 
himself  and  his  family ;  and  he  might  induce  her  to  do  justice  to  my 
dear  girls  and  the  two  boys,  who  require  and  deserve,  I  am  sure, 
every  assistance  which  their  relatives  can  give  them." 

And,  as  the  hatred  of  vice  is  always  a  progress  towards  virtue, 
Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  endeavoured  to  instil  into  her  sister-in-law  a 
proper  abhorrence  for  all  Rawdon  Crawley's  manifold  sins  :  of  which 
his  uncle's  wife  brought  forward  such  a  catalogue  as  indeed  would 
have  served  to  condemn  a  whole  regiment  of  young  officers.  If  a 
man  has  committed  wrong  in  life,  I  don't  know  any  moralist  more 
anxious  to  point  his  errors  out  to  the  world  than  his  own  relations ; 
so  Mrs.  Bute  showed  a  perfect  family  interest  in  and  knowledge  of 
Rawdon's  history.  She  had  all  the  particulars  of  that  ugly  quarrel 
with  Captain  Marker,  in  which  Rawdon,  wrong  from  the  beginning, 
ended  in  shooting  the  Captain.  She  knew  how  the  unhappy  Lord 
Dovedale,  whose  mamma  had  taken  a  house  at  Oxford,  so  that  he 
might  be  educated  there,  and  who  had  never  touched  a  card  in  his 
life  till  he  came  to  London,  was  perverted  by  Rawdon  at  the  Cocoa- 
Tree,  made  helplessly  tipsy  by  this  abominable  seducer  and  perverter 
of  youth,  and  fleeced  of  four  thousand  pounds.  She  described  with 
the  most  vivid  minuteness  the  agonies  of  the  country  families  whom 
he  had  ruined — the  sons  whom  he  had  plunged  into  dishonour  and 
poverty — the  daughters  whom  he  had  inveigled  into  perdition.  She 
knew  the  poor  tradesmen  who  were  bankrupt  by  his  extravagance — 
the  mean  shifts  and  rogueries  with  which  he  had  ministered  to  it — 
the  astounding  falsehoods  by  which  he  had  imposed  upon  the  most 
generous  of  aunts,  and  the  ingratitude  and  ridicule  by  which  he  had 
repaid  her  sacrifices.     She  imparted  these  stories  gradually  to  Miss 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  175 

Crawley ;  gave  her  the  whole  benefit  of  them ;  felt  it  to  be  her  bounden 
duty  as  a  Christian  woman  and  mother  of  a  family  to  do  so  ;  had  not 
the  smallest  remorse  or  compunction  for  the  victim  whom  her  tongue 
was  immolating;  nay,  very  likely  thought  her  act  was  quite  meritorious, 
and  plumed  herself  upon  her  resolute^anner  of  performing  it.  Yes,  if 
a  man's  character  is  to  be  abused,  say  what  you  will,  there's  nobodylike- 
aTMation'tb  do  the  busihess.  '  And  one  is  bound  to  own,  regarding 
this~unfortunate  wretch  of  a  Rawdon  Crawley,  that  the  mere  truth 
was  enough  to  condemn  him,  and  that  all  inventions  of  scandal  were 
quite  superfluous  pains  on  his  fi-iends'  parts. 

Rebecca,  too,  being  now  a  relative,  came  in  for  the  fullest  share 
of  Mrs.  Bute's  kind  inquiries.  This  indefatigable  pursuer  of  truth 
(having  given  strict  orders  that  the  door  was  to  be  denied  to  all  emis- 
saries or  letters  from  Rawdon)  took  Miss  Crawley's  carriage,  and 
drove  to  her  old  Mend  Miss  Pinkerton,  at  Minerva  House,  Chiswick 
Mall,  to  whom  she  announced  the  dreadful  intelligence  of  Captain 
Rawdon's  seduction  by  Miss  Sharp,  and  from  whom  she  got  sundry 
strange  particulars  regarding  the  ex-governess's  birth  and  early  history. 
The  friend  of  the  Lexicographer  had  plenty  of  information  to  give. 
Miss  Jemima  was  made  to  fetch  the  drawing-master's  receipts  and 
letters.  This  one  was  from  a  spunging-house :  that  entreated  an 
advance  :  another  was  frill  of  gratitude  for  Rebecca's  reception  by  the 
ladies  of  Chiswick  :  and  the  last  document  from  the  unlucky  artist's 
pen  was  that  in  which,  from  his  dying  bed,  he  recommended  his 
orphan  child  to  Miss  Pinkerton's  protection.  There  were  juvenile 
letters  and  petitions  from  Rebecca,  too,  in  the  collection,  imploring  aid 
for  her  father  or  declaring  her  own  gratitude.  Perhaps  in  Vanity  ^i^"^ 
Fair  th^:e  are  nO-better  satires  than  letters.  Takea  bundle  ot  yoiir 
dear  friend's  of  ten  years  bacE^^^our  dear  friend  whom  you  hate  now. 
Look  at  a  file  of  your  sister's  !  how  you  clung  to  each  other  till  you 
quari'elled  about  the  twenty-pound  legacy  !  Get  down  the  round-hand 
scrawls  of  your  son  who  has  half  broken  your  heart  with  selfish  un- 
dutifulness  since ;  or  a  parcel  of  your  own,  breathing  endless  ardour 
and  love  eternal,  which  were  sent  back  by  your  mistress  when  she 
married  the  Nabob— your  mistress  for  whom  you  now  care  no  more 
than  for  Queen  Elizabeth.  Vows,  love,  promises,  confidences,  grati- 
tude, how  queerly  they  read  after  a  while  !  There  ought  to  be  a  law 
in  Vanity  Fair  ordering  the  destruction  of  every  written  document 
(except  receipted  tiudesmen's  bills)  after  a  certain  brief  and  proper 
interval.  Thoso  quacks  and  misanthropes  who  advertise  indelible 
Japan  ink  should  be  made  to  perish  along  with  their  wicked  dis- 
coveries. The  best  ink  for  Vanity  Fair  use  would  be  one  that  fadecr 
utterly  in  a  couple  of  days,  and  left  the  paper  clean  and  blank, 
that  you  might  write  on  it  to  somebody  else. 


idis- 
aded\ 
k,  so  \ 


/76  VANITY   FAIIt 

From  Miss  Pinkerton's  the  indefatigable  Mrs.  Bute  followed  the 
track  of  Sharp  and  his  dftughter  back  to  the  lodgings  in  Greek  Street, 
which  the  defunct  painter  had  occupied ;  and  where  portraits  of  the 
landlady  in  white  satin,  and  of  the  husband  in  brass  buttons,  done 
by  Sharp  in  lieu  of  a  quarter's  rent,  still  decorated  the  parlour  walls. 
Mrs.  Stokes  was  a  communicative  person,  and  quickly  told  all  she 
knew  about  Mr.  Sharp ;  how  dissolute  and  poor  he  was ;  how  good- 
natured  and  amusing ;  how  he  was  always  hunted  by  bailiffs  and 
duns ;  how,  to  the  landlady's  horror,  though  she  never  could  abide 
the  woman,  he  did  not  marry  his  wife  till  a  short  time  before  her 
death ;  and  what  a  queer  little  wild  vixen  his  daughter  was ;  how 
she  kept  them  all  laughing  with  her  fun  and  mimicry;  how  she 
used  to  fetch  the  gin  from  the  public-house,  and  was  known  in  all  the 
studios  in  the  quarter — in  brief,  Mrs.  Bute  got  such  a  full  account 
of  her  new  niece's  parentage,  education,  and  behaviour  as  would 
scarcely  have  pleased  Rebecca,  had  the  latter  known  that  such 
inquiries  were  being  made  concerning  her. 

Of  all  these  industrious  researches  Miss  Crawley  had  the  full 
benefit.  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  was  the  daughter  of  an  opera-girl. 
She  had  danced  herself.  She  had  been  a  model  to  the  painters. 
She  was  brought  up  as  became  her  mother's  daughter.  She  drank 
gin  with  her  father,  &c.  &c.  It  was  a  lost  woman  who  was  married 
to  a  lost  man ;  and  the  moral  to  be  inferred  from  Mrs.  Bute's  tale 
was,  that  the  knavery  of  the  pair  was  irremediable,  and  that  no 
properly  conducted  person  should  ever  notice  them  again. 

These  were  the  materials  which  prudent  Mrs.  Bute  gathered 
together  in  Park  Lane,  the  provisions  and  ammunition  as  it  were 
witli  which  she  fortified  the  house  against  the  siege  which  she  knew 
that  Rawdon  and  his  wife  would  lay  to  Miss  Crawley. 

But  if  a  f^-ult  may  be  found  with  her  arrangements,  it  is  this, 
that  she  was  too  eager;  she  managed  rather  too  well;  undoubtedly 
she  made  Miss  Crawley  more  ill  than  was  necessary ;  and  though 
the  old  invalid  succumbed  to  her  authority,  it  was  so  harassing  and 
severe,  that  the  victim  would  be  inclined  to  escape  at  the  very  first 
chance  which  fell  in  her  way.  Managing  women,  the  ornaments  of 
their  sex, — women  who  order  everything  for  everybody,  and  know 
so  much  better  than  any  person  concerned  what  is  good  for  their 
neighbours,  don't  sometimes  speculate  upon  the  possibility  of  a 
domestic  revolt,  or  upon  other  extreme  consequences  resulting  from 
their  overstrained  authority. 

Thus,  for  instance,  Mrs.  Bute,  with  the  best  intentions  no  doubt 
In  the  world,  and  wearing  herself  to  death  as  she  did  by  foregoing 
sleep,  dinner,  fresh  air,  for  the  sake  of  her  invalid  sister-in-law. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  177 

carried  her  conviction  of  the  old  lady's  illness  so  far  that  she  almost 
managed  her  into  her  coffin.  She  pointed  out  her  sacrifices  and  their 
results  one  day  to  the  constant  apothecary,  Mr.  Clump. 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Mr.  Clump,"  she  said,  "no  efforts  of  mine 
have  been  wanting  to  restore  our  defi^r  invalid,  whom  the  ingratitude 
of  her  nephew  has  laid  on  the  bed  of  sickness.  /  never  shrink  from 
personal  discomfort :  /  never  refuse  to  sacrifice  myself." 

"  Your  devotion,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  admirable,"  Mr.  Clump 
says,  with  a  low  bow ;  "  but " 

"  I  have  scarcely  closed  my  eyes  since  my  arrival :  I  give  up 
sleep,  health,  every  comfort,  to  my  sense  of  duty.  When  my  poor 
James  was  in  the  small-pox,  did  I  allow  any  hireling  to  nurse 
him?     No." 

"  You  did  what  became  an  excellent  mother,  my  dear  Madam — 
the  best  of  mothers ;  but " 

"As  the  mother  of  a  family  and  the  wife  of  an  English  clergy- 
man, I  humbly  trust  that  my  principles  are  good,"  Mrs.  Bute  said, 
with  a  happy  solemnity  of  conviction;  "and,  as  long  as  Nature 
supports  me,  never,  never,  Mr.  Clump,  will  I  desert  the  post  of 
duty.  Others  may  bring  that  grey  head  with  sorrow  to  the  bed 
of  sickness  (here  Mrs.  Bute,  waving  her  hand,  pointed  to  one  of 
old  Miss  Crawley's  coffee-coloured  fronts,  which  was  perched  on  a 
stand  in  the  dressing-room),  but  /  will  never  quit  it.  Ah,  Mr. 
Clump !  I  fear,  I  know,  that  that  couch  needs  spiritual  as  well 
as  medical  consolation." 

"What  I  was  going  to  observe,  my  dear  Madam" — here  the 
resolute  Clump  once  more  interposed  with  a  bland  air — "  what  I 
was  going  to  observe  when  you  gave  utterance  to  sentiments  which 
do  you  so  much  honour,  was  that  I  think  you  alarm  yourself  need- 
lessly about  our  kind  Mend,  and  sacrifice  your  own  health  too 
prodigally  in  her  favour." 

"  I  would  lay  down  my  life  for  my  duty,  or  for  any  member  of 
my  husband's  family,"  Mrs.  Bute  interposed. 

"Yes,  Madam,  if  need  were;  but  we  don't  want  Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley  to  be  a  martyr,"  Clump  said  gallantly.  "  Dr.  Squills  and 
myself  have  both  considered  Miss  Crawley's  case  with  every  anxiety 
and  care,  as  you  may  suppose.  We  see  her  low-spirited  and  nervous ; 
family  events  have  agitated  her." 

"  Her  nephew  will  come  to  perdition,"  Mrs.  Crawley  cried. 

"  Have  agitated  her  :  and  you  arrived  like  a  guardian  angel,  my 
dear  Madam,  a  positive  guardian  angel,  I  assure  you,  to  soothe  her 
under  the  pressure  of  calamity.  But  Dr.  Squills  and  I  were  think- 
ing that  our  amiable  friend  is  not  in  such  a  state  as  renders  confine- 
ment to  her  bed  necessary.     She  is  depressed,  but  this  confinement 

K* 


17^  VANITY    FAIR 

perhaps  adds  to  her  depression.  She  should  have  change,  fresh 
air,  gaiety;  the  most  delightful  remedies  in  the  pharmacopoeia," 
Mr.  Clump  said,  grinning  and  showing  his  handsome  teeth.  "  Per- 
suade her  to  rise,  dear  Madam ;  drag  her  from  her  couch  and 
her  low  spirits;  insist  upon  her  taking  little  drives.  They  will 
restore  the  roses,  too,  to  your  cheeks,  if  I  may  so  speak  to  Mrs. 
Bute  Crawley." 

"  The  sight  of  her  horrid  nephew  casually  in  the  Park,  where 

I  am  told  the  wretch  drives  with  the  brazen  partner  of  his  crimes," 

Mrs.  Bute  said  (letting  the  cat  of  selfishness  out  of  the  bag  of 

secrecy),  *'  would  cause  her  such  a  shock,  that  we  should  have  to 

bring  her  back  to  bed  again.     She  nmst  not  go  out,  Mr.  Clump. 

She  shall  not  go  out  as  long  as  I  remain  to  watch  over  her.     And 

as  for  my  health,  what  matters  it?     I  give  it  cheerfully,  sir.     I 

sacrifice  it  at  the  altar  of  my  duty." 

I         "Upon  my  word.  Madam,"  Mr.  Clump  now  said  bluntly,  "I 

/    won't  answer  for  her  life  if  she  remains  locked  up  in  that  dark  room. 

She  is  so  nervous,  that  we  may  lose  her  any  day ;  and  if  you  wish 

I    Captain  Crawley  to  be  her  heir,  I  warn  you  frankly.  Madam,  that 

\jou  are  doing  your  very  best  to  serve  him." 

"  Gracious  mercy !  is  her  life  in  danger  1 "  Mrs.  Bute  cried. 
"  Why,  why,  Mr.  Clump,  did  you  not  inform  me  sooner  *? " 

The  night  before,  Mr.  Clump  and  Dr.  Squills  had  had  a  con- 
sultation (over  a  bottle  of  wine  at  the  house  of  Sir  Lapin  Warren, 
whose  lady  was  about  to  present  him  with  a  thirteenth  blessing) 
regarding  Miss  Crawley  and  her  case. 

"  What  a  little  harpy  that  woman  from  Hampshire  is.  Clump," 
Squills  remarked,  "  that  has  seized  upon  old  Tilly  Crawley.  DeviKsh 
good  Madeira." 

*'  What  a  fool  Rawdon  Crawley  has  been,"  Clump  replied, 
"to  go  and  marry  a  governess !  There  was  something  about  the 
girl,  too." 

"Green  eyes,  fair  skin,  pretty  figure,  famous  frontal  develop- 
ment," Squills  remarked.  "There  is  something  about  her;  and 
Crawley  was  a  fool.  Squills." 

"  A  d fool — always  was,"  the  apothecary  replied. 

"  Of  course  the  old  girl  will  fling  him  over,"  said  the  physician, 
and  after  a  pause  added,  "  She'll  cut  up  well,  I  suppose." 

"Cut  up,"  says  Clump  with  a  giin ;  "I  wouldn't  have  her  cut 
up  for  two  hundred  a  year." 

**  That  Hampshire  woman  will  kill  her  in  two  months.  Clump, 
my  boy,  if  she  stops  about  her,"  Dr.  Squills  said.  "  Old  woman ; 
full  feeder ;  nervous  subject ;  palpitation  of  the  heart ;  pressure  on 
the  brain;  apoplexy;  off  she  goes.     Get  her  up,  Clump;  ^et  her 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  179 

out :  or  I  wouldn't  give  many  weeks'  purchase  for  your  two  hundred 
a  year."  And  it  was  acting  upon  this  hint  that  the  worthy  apothe- 
cary spoke  with  so  much  candour  to  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley. 

Having  the  old  lady  under  her  Imnd  :  in  bed  :  with  nobody  near, 
Mrs.  Bute  had  made  more  than  one  assault  upon  her,  to  induce  her 
to  alter  her  will.  But  Miss  Crawley's  usual  terrors  regarding  death 
increased  greatly  when  such  dismal  propositions  were  made  to  her, 
and  Mrs.  Bute  saw  that  she  must  get  her  patient  into  cheerful  spirits 
and  health  before  she  could  hope  to  attain  the  pious  object  which  slie 
had  in  view.  Whither  to  take  her  was  the  next  puzzle.  The  only' 
place  where  she  is  not  likely  to  meet  those  odious  Rawdons  is  at 
church,  and  that  won't  amuse  her,  Mrs.  Bute  justly  felt.  "We  must 
go  and  visit  our  beautiful  suburbs  of  London,"  she  then  thought.  "I 
hear  they  are  the  most  picturesque  in  the  world ; "  and  so  she  had  a 
sudden  interest  for  Hampstead,  and  Homsey,  and  found  that  Dulwich 
had  great  charms  for  her,  and  getting  her  victim  into  her  carriage, 
drove  her  to  those  rustic  spots,  beguiling  the  little  journeys  with 
conversations  about  Rawdon  and  his  wife,  and  telling  every  story  to 
the  old  lady  which  could  add  to  her  indignation  against  this  pair 
of  reprobates. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Bute  pulled  the  string  unnecessarily  tight.  For 
though  she  worked  up  Miss  Crawley  to  a  proper  dislike  of  her  dis- 
obedient nephew,  the  invalid  had  a  great  hatred  and  secret  teiTor  of 
her  victimiser,  and  panted  to  escape  from  her.  After  a  brief  space, 
she  rebelled  against  Highgate  and  Homsey  utterly.  She  would  go 
into  the  Park.  Mrs.  Bute  knew  they  would  meet  the  abominable 
Rawdon  there,  and  she  was  right.  One  day  in  the  ring,  Rawdon's 
stanhope  came  in  sight;  Rebecca  was  seated  by  him.  In  the 
enemy's  equipage  Miss  Crawley  occupied  her  usual  place,  with  Mrs. 
Bute  on  her  left,  the  poodle  and  Miss  Briggs  on  the  back  seat.  It 
was  a  nervous  moment,  and  Rebecca's  heart  beat  quick  as  she  recog- 
nised the  carriage ;  and  as  the  two  vehicles  crossed  each  other  in  a 
line,  she  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked  towards  the  spinster  with 
a  face  of  agonised  attachment  and  devotion.  Rawdon  himself 
trembled,  and  his  face  grew  purple  behind  his  dyed  mustachios. 
Only  old  Briggs  was  moved  in  the  other  carriage,  and  cast  her  great 
eyes  nervously  towards  her  old  friends.  Miss  Crawley's  bonnet 
was  resolutely  turned  towards  the  Serpentine.  Mrs.  Bute  happened 
to  be  in  ecstasies  with  the  poodle,  and  was  calling  him  a  little 
darling,  and  a  sweet  little  zoggy,  and  a  pretty  pet.  The  carriages 
moved  on,  each  in  his  line. 

"  Done,  by  Jove,"  Rawdon  said  to  his  wife. 

"  Try  once  more,  Rawdon,"  Rebecca  answered.  "  Could  not  you 
lock  your  wheels  into  theirs,  dearest  ? " 


!§o  T^ANITY    FAIft 

Rawdon  had  not  the  heart  for  that  manoeuvre.  When  the 
carriages  met  again,  he  stood  up  in  his  stanhope;  he  raised  his 
hand  ready  to  doff  his  hat ;  he  looked  with  all  his  eyes.  But  this 
time  Miss  Crawley's  face  was  not  turned  away ;  she  and  Mrs.  Bute 
looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and  cut  their  nephew  pitilessly.  He 
sank  back  in  his  seat  with  an  oath,  and  striking  out  of  the  ring, 
dashed  away  desperately  homewards. 

It  was  a  gallant  and  decided  triumph  for  Mrs.  Bute.  But  she 
felt  the  danger  of  many  such  meetings,  as  she  saw  the  evident 
nervousness  of  Miss  Crawley ;  and  she  determined  that  it  was  most 
necessary  for  her  dear  friend's  health,  that  they  should  leave  town 
for  a  while,  and  recommended  Brighton  very  strongly. 


i  ^ 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  WHICH  CAPTAIN  DOBBIN  ACTS  AS  THE  MESSENGER 
OF  HYMEN 

WITHOUT  knowing  how,  Captain  WiUiam  Dobbin  found 
himself  the  great  promoter,  arranger,  and  manager  of  the 
match  between  George  Osborne  and  Amelia.  But  for  him 
it  never  would  have  taken  place  :  he  could  not  but  confess  as  much 
to  himself,  and  smiled  rather  bitterly  as  he  thought  that  he  of 
all  men  in  the  world  should  be  the  person  upon  whom  the  care 
of  this  marriage  had  fallen.  But  though  indeed  the  conducting  of 
this  negotiation  was  about  as  painful  a  task  as  could  be  set  to 
him,  yet  when  he  had  a  duty  to  perform,  Captain  Dobbin  was 
accustomed  to  go  through  it  without  many  words  or  much  hesita- 
tion :  and,  having  made  up  his  mind  completely,  that  if  Miss  Sedley 
was  balked  of  her  husband  she  would  die  of  the  disappointment,  he 
was  determined  to  use  all  his  best  endeavours  to  keep  her  alive. 

I  forbear  to  enter  into  minute  particulars  of  the  interview  be- 
tween George  and  Amelia,  when  the  former  was  brought  back  to 
the  feet  (or  should  we  venture  to  say  the  arms'?)  of  his  young 
mistress  by  the  intervention  of  his  friend  honest  William.  A  much 
harder  heart  than  George's  would  have  melted  at  the  sight  of  that 
sweet  face  so  sadly  ravaged  by  grief  and  despair,  and  at  the  simple 
tender  accents  in  which  she  told  her  little  broken-hearted  story  :  but 
as  she  did  not  faint  when  her  mother,  trembhng,  brought  Osborne 
to  her ;  and  as  she  only  gave  relief  to  her  overcharged  grief,  by 
laying  her  head  on  her  lover's  shoulder  and  there  weeping  for  a  while 
the  most  tender,  copious,  and  refreshing  tears — old  Mrs.  Sedley, 
too,  greatly  reheved,  thought  it  was  best  to  leave  the  young  persons 
to  themselves ;  and  so  quitted  Emmy  crying  over  George's  hand, 
and  kissing  it  humbly,  as  if  he  were  her  supreme  chief  and  master, 
and  as  if  she  were  quite  a  guilty  and  unworthy  person  needing  every 
favour  and  grace  from  him. 

This  prostration  and  sweet  unrepining  obedience  exquisitely 
touched  and  flattered  George  Osborne.  He  saw  a  slave^  before  him 
in  that  simple  yielding  faithful  creature,  and  his  "soul  within  him 
thrilled  secretly  somehow  at   the  knowledge  _^  his_£ower.     He 


i82  VANITY    FAIR 

would  be  generous-minded,  Sultan  as  he  was,  and  raise  up  this 
kneeling  Esther  and  make  a  queen  of  her :  besides,  her  sadness  and 
beauty  touched  him  as  much  as  her  submission,  and  so  he  cheered 
her,  and  raised  her  up  and  forgave  her,  so  to  speak.  All  her  hopes 
and  feelings,  which  were  dying  and  withering,  this  her  sun  having 
been  removed  from  her,  bloomed  again  and  at  once,  its  light  being 
restored.  You  would  scarcely  have  recognised  the  beaming  little 
face  upon  Amelia's  pillow  that  night  as  the  one  that  was  laid  there 
the  night  before,  so  wan,  so  lifeless,  so  careless  of  all  round  about. 
The  honest  Irish  maid-servant,  delighted  with  the  change,  asked 
leave  to  kiss  the  face  that  had  grown  all  of  a  sudden  so  rosy. 
Amelia  put  her  arms  round  the  girl's  neck  and  kissed  her  with  all 
her  heart,  like  a  child.  She  was  little  more.  She  had  that  night 
a  sweet  refreshing  sleep,  like  one — and  what  a  spring  of  inexpressible 
happiness  as  she  woke  in  the  morning  sunshine  ! 

"  He  will  be  here  again  to-day,"  Amelia  thought.  "  He  is  the 
greatest  and  best  of  men."  And  the  fact  is,  that  George  thought 
he  was  one  of  the  generousest  creatures  alive :  and  that  he  was 
making  a  tremendous  sacrifice  in  marrying  this  young  creature. 

While  she  and  Osborne  were  having  their  delightful  tete-a-tete 
above  stairs,  old  Mrs.  Sedley  and  Captain  Dobbin  were  conversing 
below  upon  the  state  of  the  affairs,  and  the  chances  and  future 
arrangements  of  the  young  people.  Mrs.  Sedley  having  brought 
the  two  lovers  together  and  left  them  embracing  each  other  with  all 
their  might,  like  a  true  woman,  was  of  opinion  that  no  power  on 
earth  would  induce  Mr.  Sedley  to  consent  to  the  match  between  his 
daughter  and  the  son  of  a  man  who  had  so  shamefully,  wickedly, 
and  monstrously  treated  him.  And  she  told  a  long  story  about 
happier  days  and  their  earlier  splendours,  when  Osborne  lived  in  a 
very  humble  way  in  the  New  Road,  and  his  wife  was  too  glad  to 
receive  some  of  Jos's  little  baby  things,  with  which  Mrs.  Sedley 
accommodated  her  at  the  birth  of  one  of  Osborne's  own  children. 
The  fiendish  ingratitude  of  that  man,  she  was  sure,  had  broken  Mr. 
S.'s  heart :  and  as  for  a  marriage,  he  would  never,  never,  never, 
never  consent. 

"  They  must  run  away  together.  Ma'am,"  Dobbin  said,  laughing, 
"and  follow  the  example  of  Captain  Rawdon  Crawley,  and  Miss 
Emmy's  Mend  the  little  governess."  Was  it  possible?  Well  she 
never  !  Mrs.  Sedley  was  all  excitement  about  this  news.  She  wished 
that  Blenkinsop  were  here  to  hear  it :  Blenkinsop  always  mistrusted 
that  Miss  Sharp. — What  an  escape  Jos  had  had  !  and  she  described 
the  already  well-known  love-passages  between  Rebecca  and  the  Col- 
lector of  Boggley  Wollah. 

It  was  not,  however,  Mr.  Sedley's  wrath  which  Dobbin  feared,  so 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  183 

much  as  that  of  the  other  parent  concerned,  and  he  owned  tliat  he 
had  a  very  considerable  doubt  and  anxiety  respecting  the  behaviour 
of  the  black-browed  old  tyrant  of  a  Russia  merchant  in  Russell  Square. 
He  has  forbidden  the  match  peremptorily,  Dobbin  thought.  He  knew 
what  a  savage  determined  man  Osborne  was,  and  how  he  stuck  by 
his  word.  "  The  only  chance  George  has  of  reconcilement,"  argued 
his  friend,  "  is  by  distinguishing  himself  in  the  coming  campaign.  If 
he  dies  they  both  go  together.  If  he  fails  in  distinction — what  then  ? 
He  has  some  money  from  his  mother,  I  have  heard — enough  to  pur- 
chase his  majority — or  he  must  sell  out  and  go  and  dig  in  Canada, 
or  rough  it  in  a  cottage  in  the  country."  With  such  a  partner  Dobbin 
thought  he  would  not  mind  Siberia — and,  strange  to  say,  this  absurd 
and  utterly  imprudent  young  fellow  never  for  a  moment  considered 
that  the  want  of  means  to  keep  a  nice  carriage  and  horses,  and  of  an 
income  which  should  enable  its  possessors  to  entertain  their  friends 
genteelly,  ought  to  operate  as  bars  to  the  union  of  George  and  Miss 
Sedley. 

It  was  these  weighty  considerations  which  made  him  think  too 
that  the  marriage  should  take  place  as  quickly  as  possible.  Was  he  "^ 
anxious  himself,  I  wonder,  to  have  it  over  ? — as  people,  when  death 
has  occurred,  like  to  press  forward  the  funeral,  or  when  a  parting  is 
resolved  upon,  hasten  it.  It  is  certain  that  Mr.  Dobbin,  having  taken 
the  matter  in  hand,  was  most  extraordinarily  eager  in  the  conduct  of 
it.  He  urged  on  George  the  necessity  of  immediate  action  :  he  showed 
the  chances  of  reconciliation  with  his  father,  which  a  favourable  mention 
of  his  name  in  the  Gazette  must  bring  about.  If  need  were  he  would 
go  himself  and  brave  both  the  fathers  in  the  business.  At  all  events, 
he  besought  George  to  go  through  with  it  before  the  orders  came, 
which  everybody  expected,  for  the  departure  of  the  regiment  from 
England  on  foreign  service. 

Bent  upon  these  hymeneal  projects,  and  with  the  applause  and 
consent  of  Mrs.  Sedley,  who  did  not  care  to  break  the  matter  person- 
ally to  her  husband,  Mr.  Dobbin  went  to  seek  John  Sedley  at  his 
house  of  call  in  the  City,  the  Tapioca  Coffee-House,  where,  since  his 
own  offices  were  shut  up,  and  fate  had  overtaken  him,  the  poor  broken- 
down  old  gentleman  used  to  betake  himself  daily,  and  write  letters  and 
receive  them,  and  tie  them  up  into  mysterious  bundles,  several  of 
which  he  carried  in  the  flaps  of  his  coat.  I  don't  know  anything  more 
dismal  than  that  business  and  bustle  and  mystery  of  a  ruined  man  : 
those  letters  from  the  wealthy  which  he  shows  you  :  those  worn  greasy 
documents  promising  support  and  offering  condolence  which  he  places 
wistfully  before  you,  and  on  which  he  builds  his  hopes  of  restoration 
and  future  fortime.  My  beloved  reader  has  no  doubt  in  the  course 
of  his  experience  been  waylaid  by  many  such  a  luckless  companion. 


i84  VANITY    FAIR 

He  takes  you  into  the  comer ;  he  has  his  bundle  of  papers  out  of  his 
gaping  coat  pocket ;  and  the  tape  off,  and  the  string  in  his  mouth, 
and  the  favourite  letters  selected  and  laid  before  you ;  and  who  does 
not  know  the  sad  eager  half-crazy  look  which  he  fixes  on  you  with 
his  hopeless  eyes  ? 

Changed  into  a  man  of  this  sort,  Dobbin  found  the  once  florid, 
jovial,  and  prosperous  John  Sedley.  His  coat,  that  used  to  be  so 
glossy  and  trim,  was  white  at  the  seams,  and  the  buttons  showed 
the  copper.  His  face  had  fallen  in,  and  was  unshorn ;  his  frill  and 
neckcloth  hung  limp  under  his  bagging  waistcoat.  When  he  used 
to  treat  the  boys  in  old  days  at  a  coffee-house,  he  would  shout  and 
laugh  louder  than  anybody  there,  and  have  all  the  waiters  skipping 
round  him ;  it  was  quite  painM  to  see  how  humble  and  civil  he 
was  to  John  of  the  Tapioca,  a  blear-eyed  old  attendant  in  dingy 
stockings  and  cracked  pumps,  whose  business  it  was  to  serve  glasses 
of  wafers,  and  bumpers  of  ink  in  pewter,  and  slices  of  paper  to  the 
frequenters  of  this  dreary  house  of  entertainment,  where  nothing 
else  seemed  to  be  consumed.  As  for  William  Dobbin,  whom  he 
had  tipped  repeatedly  in  his  youth,  and  who  had  been  the  old 
gentleman's  butt  on  a  thousand  occasions,  old  Sedley  gave  his  hand 
to  him  in  a  very  hesitating  humble  manner  now,  and  called  him 
"  Sir."  A  feeling  of  shame  and  remorse  took  possession  of  William 
Dobbin  as  the  broken  old  man  so  received  and  addressed  him,  as  if 
he  himself  had  been  somehow  guilty  of  the  misfortunes  which  had 
brought  Sedley  so  low. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  Captain  Dobbin,  sir,"  says  he, 
after  a  skulking  look  or  two  at  his  visitor  (whose  lanky  figure  and 
military  appearance  caused  some  excitement  likewise  to  twinkle  in 
the  blear  eyes  of  the  waiter  in  the  cracked  dancing  pumps,  and 
awakened  the  old  lady  in  black,  who  dozed  among  the  mouldy  old 
coffee-cups  in  the  bar).  "How  is  the  worthy  alderman,  and  my 
lady,  your  excellent  mother,  sir  1 "  He  looked  round  at  the  waiter 
as  he  said,  "  My  lady,"  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Hark  ye,  John,  I  have 
friends  still,  and  persons  of  rank  and  reputation,  too."  "Are  you 
come  to  do  anything  in  my  way,  sir  1  My  young  Mends  Dale  and 
Spiggot  do  all  my  business  for  me  now,  until  my  new  ofiices  are 
ready ;  for  I'm  only  here  temporarily,  you  know,  Captain.  What 
can  we  do  for  you,  sir  ?     Will  you  like  to  take  anything  ? " 

Dobbin,  with  a  great  deal  of  hesitation  and  stuttering,  protested 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  hungry  or  thirsty ;  that  he  had  no 
business  to  transact ;  that  he  only  came  to  ask  if  Mr.  Sedley  was 
well,  and  to  shake  hands  with  an  old  friend ;  and,  he  added,  with 
a  desperate  perversion  of  truth,  "  My  mother  is  very  well — that  is, 
she's  been  very  unwell,  and  is  only  waiting  for  the  first  fine  day  to 


MR.  SKDLEY   AT   THE   COFFEK-HOUSB. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  185 

go  out  and  call  upon  Mrs.  Sedley.  How  is  Mrs.  Sedley,  sir  1  I  hope 
she's  quite  well."  And  here  he  paused,  reflecting  on  his  own  consum- 
mate hypocrisy ;  for  the  day  was  as  fine,  and  the  sunshine  as  bright, 
as  it  ever  is  in  Coifin  Court,  where  the  Tapioca  Coffee-House  is 
situated  :  and  Mr.  Dobbin  remembered  that  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Sedley 
himself  only  an  hour  before,  having  driven  Osborne  down  to  Fulham 
in  his  gig,  and  left  him  there  tete-cL-tete  with  Miss  Amelia. 

"My  wife  will  be  very  happy  to  see  her  ladyship,"  Sedley 
replied,  pulling  out  his  papers.  "I've  a  very  kind  letter  here 
from  your  father,  sir,  and  beg  my  respectful  compliments  to  him. 
Lady  D.  will  find  us  in  rather  a  smaller  house  than  we  were  accus- 
tomed to  receive  our  friends  in ;  but  it's  snug,  and  Mie  change  of 
air  does  good  to  my  daughter,  who  was  suffering  in  town  rather — 
you  remember  little  Emmy,  sir? — yes,  suffering  a  good  deal."  The 
old  gentleman's  eyes  were  wandering  as  he  spoke,  and  he  was  thinking 
of  something  else,  as  he  sate  thrumming  on  his  papers  and  fumbling 
at  the  worn  red  tape. 

"You're  a  military  man,"  he  went  on;  "I  ask  you.  Bill 
Dobbin,  could  any  man  ever  have  speculated  upon  the  return  of 
that  Corsican  scoundrel  from  Elba?  When  the  allied  sovereigns 
were  here  last  year,  and  we  gave  'em  that  dinner  in  the  City,  sir,  and 
we  saw  the  Temple  of  Concord,  and  the  fireworks,  and  the  Chinese 
bridge  in  St.  James's  Park,  could  any  sensible  man  suppose  that 
peace  wasn't  really  concluded,  after  we'd  actually  sung  Te  Deum  for 
it,  sir  ?  I  ask  you,  William,  could  I  suppose  that  the  Emperor  of 
Austria  was  a  damned  traitor — a  traitor,  and  nothing  more?  I 
don't  mince  words — a  double-faced  infernal  traitor  and  schemer,  who 
meant  to  have  his  son-in-law  back  all  along.  And  I  say  that  the 
escape  of  Boney  from  Elba  was  a  damned  imposition  and  plot,  sir, 
in  which  half  the  powers  of  Europe  were  concerned,  to  bring  the 
funds  down,  and  to  ruin  this  country.  That's  why  I'm  here,  William. 
That's  why  my  name's  in  the  Gazette.  Why,  sir? — because  I 
trusted  the  Emperor  of  Russia  and  the  Prince  Regent.  Look  here. 
Look  at  my  papers.  Look  what  the  funds  were  on  the  1st  of 
March — what  the  French  fives  were  when  I  bought  for  the  account. 
And  what  they're  at  now.  There  was  collusion,  sir,  or  that  villain 
never  would  have  escaped.  Where  was  the  English  Commissioner 
who  allowed  him  to  get  away  ?  He  ought  to  be  shot,  sir — brought 
to  a  court-martial,  and  shot,  by  Jove." 

"We're  going  to  hunt  Boney  out,  sir,"  Dobbin  said,  rather 
alarmed  at  the  fury  of  the  old  man,  the  veins  of  whose  forehead 
began  to  swell,  and  who  sate  drumming  his  papers  with  his  clenched 
fist.  "  We  are  going  to  hunt  him  out,  sir — the  Duke's  in  Belgium 
already,  and  we  expect  marching  orders  every  day." 


i86  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Give  him  no  quarter.    Bring  back  the  villain's  head,  sir.    Shoot 

the  coward  down,  sir,"  Sedley  roared.    "  I'd  enlist  myself,  by ; 

but  I'm  a  broken  old  man — ruined  by  that  damned  scoundrel — and 
by  a  parcel  of  swindling  thieves  in  this  country  whom  I  made,  sir, 
and  who  are  rolling  in  their  carriages  now,"  he  added,  with  a  break 
in  his  voice. 

Dobbin  was  not  a  little  affected  by  the  sight  of  this  once  kind  old 
friend,  crazed  almost  with  misfortune  and  raving  mth  senile  anger. 
Pityjthe  fallen  gentleman :  you  to  whom  money  and  fair  repute  are 
the  chiefest  good ;  and  so,  surely,  are  they  in  Vanity  Fair. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  there  are  some  vipers  that  you  warm,  and 
they  sting  you  afterwards.  There  are  some  beggars  that  you  put  on 
horseback,  and  they're  the  first  to  ride  you  down.  You  know  whom 
I  mean,  William  Dobbin,  my  boy.  I  mean  a  purse-proud  villain  in 
Russell  Square,  whom  I  knew  without  a  shilling,  and  whom  I  pray 
and  hope  to  see  a  beggar  as  he  was  when  I  befriended  him." 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  this,  sir,  from  my  friend  George," 
Dobbin  said,  anxious  to  come  to  his  point.  "  The  quarrel  between 
you  and  his  father  has  cut  him  up  a  great  deal,  sir.  Indeed,  I'm 
the  bearer  of  a  message  from  him." 

"  Oh,  that's  your  errand,  is  it  1 "  cried  the  old  man,  jumping  up. 
"  What !  perhaps  he  condoles  with  me,  does  he  ?  Very  kind  of  him, 
the  stiff-backed  prig,  with  his  dandified  airs  and  West  End  swagger. 
He's  hankering  about  my  house,  is  he  still?  If  my  son  had  the 
courage  of  a  man,  he'd  shoot  him.  He's  as  big  a  villain  as  his  father. 
I  won't  have  his  name  mentioned  in  my  house.  I  curse  the  day  that 
ever  I  let  him  into  it ;  and  I'd  rather  see  my  daughter  dead  at  my 
feet  than  married  to  him." 

"His  father's  harshness  is  not  George's  fault,  sir.  Your 
daughter's  love  for  him  is  as  much  your  doing  as  his.  Who  are 
you,  that  you  are  to  play  with  two  young  people's  affections  and 
break  their  hearts  at  your  will  1 " 

"Recollect  it's  not  his  father  that  breaks  the  match  off,"  old 
Sedley  cried  out.  "  It's  I  that  forbid  it.  That  family  and  mine  are 
separated  for  ever.  I'm  fallen  low,  but  not  so  low  as  that :  no,  no. 
And  so  you  may  tell  the  whole  race — son,  and  father,  and  sisters, 
and  all." 

"  It's  my  belief,  sir,  that  you  have  not  the  power  or  the  right  to 
separate  those  two,"  Dobbin  answered  in  a  low  voice ;  "  and  that  if 
you  don't  give  your  daughter  your  consent  it  will  be  her  duty  to 
marry  without  it.  There's  no  reason  she  should  die  or  live  miserably 
because  you  are  wrong-headed.  To  my  thinking,  she's  just  as  much 
married  as  if  the  banns  had  been  read  in  all  the  churches  in  London. 
And  what  better  answer  can  there  be  to  Osborne's  charges  against 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  187 

you,  as  charges  there  are,  than  that  his  son  claims  to  enter  your 
family  and  marry  your  daughter  1 " 

A  light  of  something  like  satisfaction  seemed  to  break  over  old 
Sedley  as  this  point  was  put  to  him :  but  he  still  persisted  that 
with  his  consent  the  marriage  between  Amelia  and  George  should 
never  take  place. 

"We  must  do  it  without,"  Dobbin  said,  smiling,  and  told  Mr. 
Sedley,  as  he  had  told  Mrs.  Sedley  in  the  day,  before,  the  story  of 
Rebecca's  elopement  with  Captain  Crawley.  It  evidently  amused 
the  old  gentleman.  "  You're  terrible  fellows,  you  Captains,"  said  he, 
tying  up  his  papers ;  and  his  face  wore  something  like  a  smile  upon 
it,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  blear-eyed  waiter  who  now  entered, 
and  had  never  seen  such  an  expression  upon  Sedley's  countenance 
since  he  had  used  the  dismal  coffee-house. 

The  idea  of  hitting  his  enemy  Osborne  such  a  blow  soothed, 
perhaps,  the  old  gentleman :  and,  their  coUoquy  presently  ending, 
he  and  Dobbin  parted  pretty  good  friends. 

"  My  sisters  say  she  has  diamonds  as  big  as  pigeons'  eggs,"  George 
said,  laughing.  "  How  they  must  set  off  her  complexion  !  A  perfect 
illumination  it  must  be  when  her  jewels  are  on  her  neck.  Her  jet- 
black  hair  is  as  curly  as  Sambo's.  I  dare  say  she  wore  a  nose-ring 
when  she  went  to  court ;  and  with  a  plume  of  feathers  in  her  top- 
knot she  would  look  a  perfect  Belle  Sauvage." 

George,  in  conversation  with  Amelia,  was  rallying  the  appearance 
of  a  young  lady  of  whom  his  father  and  sisters  had  lately  made  the 
acquaintance,  and  who  was  an  object  of  vast  respect  to  the  Russell 
Square  family.  She  was  reported  to  have  I  don't  know  how  many 
plantations  in  the  West  Indies ;  a  deal  of  money  in  the  funds ;  and 
three  stars  to  her  name  in  the  East  India  stockholders'  list.  She  had 
a  mansion  in  Surrey,  and  a  house  in  Portland  Place.  The  name  of 
the  rich  West  India  heiress  had  been  mentioned  with  applause  in  the 
Morning  Post.  Mrs.  Haggistoun,  Colonel  Haggistoun's  widow,  her 
relative,  "  chaperoned  "  her,  and  kept  her  house.  She  was  just  from 
school,  where  she  had  completed  her  education,  and  George  and  his 
sisters  had  m«t  her  at  an  evening  party  at  old  Hulker's  house, 
Devonshire  Place  (Hulker,  Bullock,  &  Co.  were  long  the  correspond- 
ents of  her  house  in  the  West  Indies),  and  the  girls  had  made  the 
most  cordial  advances  to  her,  which  the  heiress  had  received  with 
great  good-humour.  An  orphan  in  her  position — with  her  money — 
so  interesting !  the  Misses  Osborne  said.  They  were  full  of  their  new 
friend  when  they  returned  from  the  Hulker  ball  to  Miss  Wii-t,  their 
companion ;  they  had  made  arrangements  for  continually  meeting,  and 
had  the  carriage  and  drove  to  see  her  the  very  next  day.     Mrs. 

16 


i88  VANITY    FAIR 

Haggistoun,  Colonel  Haggistoun's  widow,  a  relation  of  Lord  Binkie, 
and  always  talking  of  him,  struck  the  dear  unsophisticated  girls  as 
rather  haughty,  and  too  much  inclined  to  talk  about  her  great  rela- 
tions :  but  Rhoda  was  everything  they  could  wish — the  frankest, 
kindest,  most  agreeable  creature — wanting  a  little  polish,  but  so  good- 
natured.     The  girls  Christian-named  each  other  at  once, 

"  You  should  have  seen  her  dress  for  court,  Emmy,"  Osborne 
cried,  laughing.  "  She  came  to  my  sisters  to  show  it  off,  before  she 
was  presented  in  state  by  my  Lady  Binkie,  the  Haggistoun's  kins- 
woman. She's  related  to  every  one,  that  Haggistoun.  Her  diamonds 
blazed  out  like  Vauxhall  on  the  night  we  were  there.  (Do  you 
remember  Vauxhall,  Emmy,  and  Jos  singing  to  his  dearest  diddle 
diddle  darling  ?)  Diamonds  and  mahogany,  my  dear  !  think  what  an 
advantageous  contrast — and  the  white  feathers  in  her  hair — I  mean 
in  her  wool.  She  had  earrings  like  chandeliers;  you  might  have 
lighted  'em  up,  by  Jove — and  a  yellow  satin  train  that  streeled  after 
her  like  the  tail  of  a  comet." 

"  How  old  is  she  ? "  asked  Emmy,  to  whom  George  was  rattling 
away  regarding  this  dark  paragon,  on  the  morning  of  their  reunion — 
rattling  away  as  no  other  man  in  the  world  surely  could. 

"  Why,  the  Black  Princess,  though  she  has  only  just  left  school, 
must  be  two  or  three  and  twenty.  And  you  should  see  the  hand  she 
writes  !  Mrs.  Colonel  Haggistoun  usually  writes  her  letters,  but  in  a 
moment  of  confidence,  she  put  pen  to  paper  for  my  sisters ;  she  spelt 
satin  satting,  and  Saint  James's,  Saint  Jams." 

"Why,  surely  it  must  be  Miss  Swartz,  the  parlour  boarder," 
Emmy  said,  remembering  that  good-natured  young  mulatto  girl,  who 
had  been  so  hysterically  affected  when  Amelia  left  Miss  Pinkerton's 
academy. 

*'  The  very  name,"  George  said.  "  Her  father  was  a  German  Jew 
— a  slave-owner  they  say — connected  with  the  Cannibal  Islands  in 
some  way  or  other.  He  died  last  year,  and  Miss  Pinkerton  has 
finished  her  education.  She  can  play  two  pieces  on  the  piano ;  she 
knows  three  songs ;  she  can  write  when  Mrs.  Haggistoun  is  by  to  spell 
for  her ;  and  Jane  and  Maria  already  have  got  to  love  her  as  a  sister." 

"I  wish  they  would  have  loved  me,"  said  Emmy  wistfully. 
"  They  were  always  very  cold  to  me." 

"  My  dear  child,  they  would  have  loved  you  if  you  had  had  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds,"  George  replied.  "  That  is  the  way  in 
which  they  have  been  brought  up.  Ours  is  a  ready-money  society. 
We  live  among  bankers  and  City  big-wigiTand  be  hanged~to^Tiem, 
and  every  man,  as  he  talks  to  you,  is  jingling  his  guineas  in  his  pocket. 
There  is  that  jackass  Fred  Bullock  is  going  to  marry  Maria — there's 
Goldmore,  the  East  India  Director,  there's  Dipley,  in  the  tallow 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  189 

traxie — our  trade,"  George  said,  with  an  uneasy  laugh  and  a  blush, 
*'  Curse  the  whole  pack  of  money-grubbing  vulgarians  !  I  fall  asleep 
at  their  great  heavy  dinners.  I  feel  ashamed  in  my  father's  great 
stupid  parties.  I've  been  accustomed  to  live  with  gentlemen,  and 
men  of  the  world  and  fashion,  Emmy,  not  with  a  parcel  of  turtle-fed 
tradesmen.  Dear  little  woman,  you  are  the  only  person  of  our  set 
who  ever  looked,  or  thought,  or  spoke  like  a  lady :  and  you  do  it 
because  you're  an  angel  and  can't  help  it.  Don't  remonstrate.  You 
are  the  only  lady.  Didn't  Miss  Crawley  remark  it,  who  has  lived 
in  the  best  company  in  Europe  ?  And  as  for  Crawley,  of  the  Life 
Guards,  hang  it,  he's  a  fine  fellow :  and  I  like  him  for  marrying  the 
girl  he  had  chosen." 

Amelia  admired  Mr.  Crawley  very  much,  too,  for  this;  and 
trusted  Rebecca  would  be  happy  with  him,  and  hoped  (with  a  laugh) 
Jos  would  be  consoled.  And  so  the  pair  went  on  prattling,  as  in 
quite  early  days.  Amelia's  confidence  being  perfectly  restored  to  her, 
though  she  expressed  a  great  deal  of  pretty  jealousy  about  Miss  Swartz, 
and  professed  to  be  dreadfully  frightened — like  a  hypocrite  as  she  was 
— lest  George  should  forget  her  for  the  heiress  and  her  money  and  her 
estates  in  Saint  Kitt's.  But  the  fact  is,  she  was  a  great  deal  too  happy 
to  have  fears  or  doubts  or  misgivings  of  any  sort :  and  having  George 
at  her  side  again,  was  not  afraid  of  any  heiress  or  beauty,  or  indeed 
of  any  sort  of  danger. 

When  Captain  Dobbin  came  back  in  the  afternoon  to  these  people 
'  which  he  did  with  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  them — it  did  his 
heart  good  to  see  how  Amelia  had  grown  young  again — how  she 
laughed,  and  chirped,  and  sang  familiar  old  songs  at  the  piano,  which 
were  only  interrupted  by  the  bell  from  without  proclaiming  Mr. 
Sedley's  return  from  the  City,  before  whom  George  received  a  signal 
to  retreat. 

Beyond  the  first  smile  of  recognition — and  even  that  was  an 
hypocrisy,  for  she  thought  his  arrival  rather  provoking — Miss  Sedley 
did  not  once  notice  Dobbin  during  his  visit.     But  he  was  content,^  ojjS!^^^ 
so  that  he  saw  her  happy ;  and  thankful  to  have  been  the  means  of  I  ■        r\ 
making  her  so.  j^"*^ ' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  QUARREL  ABOUT  AN  HEIRESS 

T  OVE  may  be  felt  for  any  young  lady  endowed  with  such  qualities 
I  as  Miss  Swartz  possessed;  and  a  great  dream  of  ambition 
*^^  entered  into  old  Mr.  Osborne's  soul,  which  she  was  to  realise. 
He  encouraged,  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  and  friendliness,  his 
daughters'  amiable  attachment  to  the  young  heiress,  and  protested 
that  it  gave  him  the  sincerest  pleasure  as  a  father  to  see  the  love  of 
his  girls  so  well  disposed. 

"  You  won't  find,"  he  would  say  to  Miss  Rhoda,  "  that  splendour 
and  rank  to  which  you  are  accustomed  at  the  West  End,  my  dear 
Miss,  at  our  humble  mansion  in  Russell  Square.  My  daughters  are 
plain,  disinterested  girls,  but  their  hearts  are  in  the  right  place,  and 
they've  conceived  an  attachment  for  you  which  does  them  honour — 
I  say,  which  does  them  honour.  I'm  a  plain,  simple,  humble  British 
merchant — an  honest  one,  as  my  respected  friends  Hulker  and  Bullock 
will  vouch,  who  were  the  correspondents  of  your  late  lamented  father. 
You'll  find  us  a  united,  simple,  happy,  and  I  think  I  may  say 
respected,  family — a  plain  table,  a  plain  people,  but  a  warm  welcome, 
my  dear  Miss  Rhoda — Rhoda,  let  me  say,  for  my  heart  warms  to 
you,  it  does  really.  I'm  a  frank  man,  and  I  like  you.  A  glass  of 
champagne  !     Hicks,  champagne  to  Miss  Swartz." 

There  is  little  doubt  that  old  Osborne  beUeved  all  he  said,  and 

f      that  the  girls  were  quite  earnest  in  their  protestations  of  affection 

/       for  Miss  Swartz.     Peopk  in  Vanity  Fair  fasten  on  to-rich-foIkB- 

'        quite  naturally.     Ifl;he  simplest  people  are  disposed  to  look  not  a 

little  kindly  on  great  Prosperity  (for  I  defy  any  member  of  the 

British  public  to  say  that  the  notion  of  Wealth  has  not  something 

awful  and  pleasing  to  him ;  and  you,  if  you  are  told  that  the  man 

next  you  at  dinner  has  got  half  a  million,  not  to  look  at  him  with 

a  certain  interest) ; — if  the  simple  look  benevolently  on  money,  how 

much  more  do  your  old  worldHngs  regard  it !     Their  affiections  rush 

out  to  meet  and  welcome  money.     Their  kind  sentiments  awaken 

spontaneously  towards  the  interesting  possessors  of  it,    I  know  some 

respectable  people  who  don't  consider  themselves  at  liberty  to  indulge 

in  friendship  for  any  individual  who  has  not  a  certain  competency. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A 'HERO  191 

or  place  in  society.  They  give  a  loose  to  their  feelings  on  proper 
occasions.  And  the  proof  is,  that  the  major  part  of  the  Osborne 
family,  who  had  not,  in  fifteen  years,  been  able  to  get  up  a  hearty 
regard  for  Amelia  Sedley,  became  as  fond  of  Miss  Swartz  in  the 
course  of  a  single  evening  as  the  ^ost  romantic  advocate  of  friend- 
ship at  first  sight  could  desire. 

What  a  match  for  George  she'd  be  (the  sisters  and  Miss  Wirt 
agreed),  and  how  much  better  than  that  insignificant  little  Amelia ! 
Such  a  dashing  young  fellow  as  he  is,  with  his  good  looks,  rank,  and 
accomplishments,  would  be  the  very  husband  for  her.  Visions  of 
balls  in  Portland  Place,  presentations  at  Court,  and  introductions 
to  half  the  peerage,  filled  the  minds  of  the  young  ladies ;  who  talked 
of  nothing  but  George  and  his  grand  acquaintances  to  their  beloved 
new  friend. 

Old  Osborne  thought  she  would  be  a  great  match,  too,  for  his 
son.  He  should  leave  the  army ;  he  should  go  into  Parliament ;  he 
should  cut  a  figui-e  in  the  fashion  and  in  the  state.  His  blood  boiled 
with  honest  British  exultation,  as  he  saw  the  name  of  Osborne  en- 
nobled in  the  person  of  his  son,  and  thought  that  he  might  be*  the 
progenitor  of  a  glorious  line  of  baronets.  He  worked  in  the  City 
and  on  'Change,  until  he  knew  everything  relating  to  the  fortune  of 
the  heiress,  how  her  money  was  placed,  and  where  her  estates  lay. 
Young  Fred  Bullock,  one  of  his  chief  informants,  would  have  liked 
to  make  a  bid  for  her  himself  (it  was  so  the  young  banker  expressed 
it),  only  he  was  booked  to  Maria  Osborne.  But  not  being  able  to 
secure  her  as  a  wife,  the  disinterested  Fred  quite  approved  of  her  as 
a  sister-in-law.  "  Let  George  cut  in  directly  and  win  her,"  was  his 
advice.     "  Strike  while  the  iron's  hot,  you  know — while  she's  fresh 

to  the  town  :  in  a  few  weeks  some  d fellow  from  the  West  End 

will  come  in  with  a  title  and  a  rotten  rent-roll  and  cut  all  us  City 
men  out,  as  Lord  Fitzrufus  did  last  year  with  Miss  Grogram,  who 
was  actually  engaged  to  Podder,  of  Podder  &  Brown's.  The  sooner 
it  is  done  the  better,  Mr.  Osborne ;  them's  my  sentiments,"  the  wag 
said ;  though,  when  Osborne  had  left  the  bank  parlour,  Mr.  Bullock 
remembered  Amelia,  and  what  a  pretty  girl  she  was,  and  how 
attached  to  George  Osborne ;  and  he  gave  up  at  least  ten  seconds 
of  his  valuable  time  to  regretting  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen 
that  unlucky  young  woman. 

While  thus  George  Osborne's  good  feelings,  and  his  good  friend 
and  genius,  Dobbin,  were  carrying  back  the  truant  to  Amelia's  feet, 
George's  parent  and  sisters  were  arranging  this  splendid  match  for 
him,  which  they  never  dreamed  he  would  resist. 

When  the  elder  Osborne  gave  what  he  called  "a  hint,"  there 
was  no  possibility  for  the  most  obtuse  to  mistake  his  meaning.     He 


191  VANITY    FAIR 

called  kicking  a  footman  downstairs,  a,hint  to  the  latter  to  leave  his 
service.  With  his  usual  frankness  and  delicacy  he  told  Mrs  Haggis- 
toun  that  he  would  give  her  a  cheque  for  five  thousand  pounds  on 
the  day  his  son  was  married  to  her  ward ;  and  called  that  proposal 
a  hint,  and  considered  it  a  very  dexterous  piece  of  diplomacy.  He 
gave  George  finally  such  another  hint  regarding  the  heiress;  and 
ordered  him  to  marry  her  out  of  hand,  as  he  would  have  ordered  his 
butler  to  draw  a  cork,  or  his  clerk  to  write  a  letter. 

This  imperative  hint  disturbed  Greorge  a  good  deal.  He  was  in 
the  very  first  enthusiasm  and  delight  of  his  second  courtship  of 
Amelia,  which  was  inexpressibly  sweet  to  him.  The  contrast  of 
her  manners  and  appearance  with  those  of  the  heiress,  made  the  idea 
of  a  union  with  the  latter  appear  doubly  ludicrous  and  odious. 
Carriages  and  opera-boxes,  thought  he ;  fancy  being  seen  in  them  by 
the  side  of  such  a  mahogany  charmer  as  that !  Add  to  all,  that 
the  junior  Osborne  was  quite  as  obstinate  as  the  senior :  when  he 
wanted  a  thing,  quite  as  firm  in  his  resolution  to  get  it ;  and  quite 
as  violent  when  angered,  as  his  father  in  his  most  stem  moments. 

On  the  first  day  when  his  father  formally  gave  him  the  hint  that 
he  was  to  place  his  affections  at  Miss  Swartz's  feet,  George  tem- 
porised with  the  old  gentleman.  "  You  should  have  thought  of  the 
matter  sooner,  sir,"  he  said.  "It  can't  be  done  now,  when  we're 
expecting  every  day  to  go  on  foreign  service.  Wait  till  my  return, 
if  I  do  return ; "  and  then  he  represented,  that  the  time  when  the 
regiment  was  daily  expecting  to  quit  England,  was  exceedingly  ill- 
chosen  :  that  the  jfew  days  or  weeks  during  which  they  were  still  to 
remain  at  home,  must  be  devoted  to  business  and  not  to  love-making  : 
time  enough  for  that  when  he  came  home  with  his  majority ;  "  for, 
I  promise  you,"  said  he,  with  a  satisfied  air,  "  that  one  way  or  other 
you  shall  read  the  name  of  George  Osborne  in  the  Gazette." 

The  father's  reply  to  this  was  founded  upon  the  information 
which  he  had  got  in  the  City :  that  the  West  End  chaps  would 
infallibly  catch  hold  of  the  heiress  if  any  delay  took  place :  that  if 
he  didn't  marry  Miss  S.,  he  might  at  least  have  an  engagement  in 
writing,  to  come  into  effect  when  he  returned  to  England ;  and  that 
a  man  who  could  get  ten  thousand  a  year  by  staying  at  home,  was 
a  fool  to  risk  his  life  abroad. 

"  So  that  you  would  have  me  shown  up  as  a  coward,  sir,  and 
our  name  dishonoured  for  the  sake  of  Miss  Swartz's  money,"  George 
interposed. 

This  remark  staggered  the  old  gentleman ;  but  as  he  had  to  reply 
to  it,  and  as  his  mind  was  nevertheless  made  up,  he  said,  "  You  will 
dine  here  to-morrow,  sir,  and  every  day  Miss  Swartz  comes,  you  will 
be  here  to  pay  your  respects  to  her.     If  you  want  for  money,  call 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  193 

upon  Mr.  Chopper."  Thus  a  new  obstacle  was  in  Greorge's  way,  to 
interfere  with  his  plans  regarding  Amelia ;  and  about  which  he  and 
Dobbin  had  more  than  one  confidential  consultation.  His  friend's 
opinion  respecting  the  line  of  conduct  which  he  ought  to  pursue,  we 
know  already.  And  as  for  Osbo^e,  when  he  was  once  bent  on  a 
thing,  a  fresh  obstacle  or  two  only  rendered  him  the  more  resolute. 

The  dark  object  of  the  conspiracy  into  which  the  chiefs  of  the 
Osborne  family  had  entered,  was  quite  ignorant  of  all  their  plans 
regarding  her  (which,  strange  to  say,  her  friend  and  chaperon  did 
not  divulge),  and,  taking  all  the  young  ladies'  flattery  for  genuine 
sentiment,  and  being,  as  we  have  before  had  occasion  to  show,  of  a 
very  warm  and  impetuous  nature,  responded  to  their  affection  with 
quite  a  tropical  ardour.  And  if  the  truth  may  be  told,  I  dare  say 
that  she  too  had  some  selfish  attraction  in  the  Russell  Square  house  : 
and  in  a  word,  thought  George  Osborne  a  very  nice  young  man. 
His  whiskers  had  made  an  impression  upon  her,  on  the  very  first 
night  she  beheld  them  at  the  ball  at  Messrs.  Hulkers ;  and,  as  we 
know,  she  was  not  the  first  woman  who  had  been  charmed  by  them. 
George  had  an  air  at  once  swaggering  and  melancholy,  languid  and 
fierce.  He  looked  like  a  man  who  had  passions,  secrets,  and  private 
harrowing  griefs  and  adventures.  His  voice  was  rich  and  deep. 
He  would  say  it  was  a  warm  evening,  or  ask  his  partner  to  take  an 
ice,  with  a  tone  as  sad  and  confidential  as  if  he  were  breaking  her 
mother's  death  to  her,  or  preluding  a  declaration  of  love.  He 
trampled  over  all  the  young  bucks  of  his  father's  circle,  and  was 
the  hero  among  those  third-rate  men.  Some  few  sneered  at  him 
and  hated  him.  Some,  like  Dobbin,  fanatically  admired  him.  And 
his  whiskers  had  begun  to  do  their  work,  and  to  curl  themselves 
round  the  affections  of  Miss  Swartz. 

Whenever  there  was  a  chance  of  meeting  him  in  Russell  Square, 
that  simple  and  good-natured  young  woman  was  quite  in  a  flurry  to 
see  her  dear  Misses  Osborne.  She  went  to  great  expenses  in  new 
gowns,  and  bracelets,  and  bonnets,  and  in  prodigious  feathers.  She 
adorned  her  person  with  her  utmost  skill  to  please  the  Conqueror, 
and  exhibited  all  her  simple  accomplishments  to  win  his  favour. 
The  girls  would  ask  her,  with  the  greatest  gravity,  for  a  little  music, 
and  she  would  sing  her  three  songs  and  play  her  two  little  pieces 
as  often  as  ever  they  asked,  and  with  an  always  increasing  pleasure 
to  herself.  During  these  delectable  entertainments.  Miss  Wirt  and 
the  chaperon  sate  by,  and  conned  over  the  peerage,  and  talked  about 
the  nobility. 

The  day  after  George  had  his  hint  from  his  father,  and  a  short 
time  before  the  hour  of  dinner,  he  was  lolling  upon  a  sofa  in  the 


194  VANITY    FAIR 

drawing-room  in  a  very  becoming  and  perfectly  natural  attitude  of 
melancholy.  He  had  been,  at  his  father's  request,  to  Mr.  Chopper 
in  the  City  (the  old  gentleman,  though  he  gave  great  sums  to  his 
son,  would  never  specify  any  fixed  allowance  for  him,  and  rewarded 
him  only  as  he  was  in  the  humour).  He  had  then  been  to  pass 
three  hours  with  Amelia,  his  dear  little  Amelia,  at  Fulham ;  and  he 
came  home  to  find  his  sisters  spread  in  starched  muslin  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  dowagers  cackling  in  the  background,  and\lionest  j 
Swartz  in  her  favourite  amber-coloiu^ed  satin,  with  turquoise  bracelets^ 
countless  rings,  flowers,  feathers,  and  all  sorts  of  tags  and  gimcracks, 
about  as  elegantly  decorated  as  a  she  chimney-sweep  on  May-day. 

The  girls,  after  vain  attempts  to  engage  him  in  conversation, 
talked  about  fashions  and  the  last  drawing-room  until  he  was  per- 
fectly sick  of  their  chatter.  He  contrasted  their  behaviour  with 
little  Emmy's — their  shrill  voices  with  her  tender  ringing  tones; 
their  attitudes  and  their  elbows  and  their  starch,  with  her  humble 
soft  movements  and  modest  graces.  Poor  Swartz  was  seated  in  a 
place  where  Emmy  had  been  accustomed  to  sit.  Her  bejewelled 
hands  lay  sprawling  in  her  amber  satin  lap.  Her  tags  and  earrings 
twinkled,  and  her  big  eyes  rolled  about.  She  was  doing  nothing 
with  perfect  contentment,  and  thinking  herself  charming.  Anything 
so  becoming  as  the  satin  the  sisters  had  never  seen. 

"  Dammy,"  George  said  to  a  confidential  Mend,  "  she  looked 
like  a  China  doll,  which  has  nothing  to  do  all  day  but  to  grin  and 
wag  its  head.  By  Jove,  Will,  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  prevent 
myself  from  throwing  the  sofa-cushion  at  her."  He  restrained  that 
exhibition  of  sentiment,  however. 

The  sisters  began  to  play  the  Battle  of  Prague.     "  Stop  that 

d thing,"-  George  howled  out  in  a  fury  from  the  sofa.     "  It 

makes  me  mad.     You  play  us  something,  Miss  Swartz,  do.     Sing 
something,  anything  but  the  Battle  of  Prague." 

"  Shall  I  sing  Blue-Eyed  Mary,  or  the  air  from  the  Cabinet  1 " 
Miss  Swartz  asked. 

"  That  sweet  thing  from  the  Cabinet,"  the  sisters  said. 

"  We've  had  that,"  replied  the  misanthrope  on  the  sofa. 

*'  I  can  sing  Fluvy  du  Tajy,"  Swartz  said  in  a  meek  voice,  "  if 
I  had  the  words."  It  was  the  last  of  the  worthy  young  woman's 
collection. 

"  Oh,  Fleuve  duTage,"  Miss  Maria  cried  ;  "we  have  the  song," 
and  went  off"  to  fetch  the  book  in  which  it  was. 

Now  it  happened  that  this  song,  then  in  the  height  of  the 
fashion,  had  been  given  to  the  young  ladies  by  a  young  fi-iend  of 
theirs,  whose  name  was  on  the  title,  and  Miss  Swartz,  having  con- 
cluded the  ditty  with  George's  applause  (for  he  remembered  that 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  195 

it  was  a  favourite  of  Amelia's),  was  hoping  for  an  encore  perhaps, 
and  fiddling  with  the  leaves  of  the  music,  when  her  eye  fell  upon 
the  title,  and  she  saw  "  Amelia  Sedley  "  written  in  the  comer. 

"  Lor  ! "  cried  Miss  Swartz,  spinning  swiftly  round  on  the 
music-stool,  "is  it  my  Amelia?  ^Amelia  that  was  at  Miss  P.'s 
at  Hammersmith  %  I  know  it  is.  It's  her,  and — Tell  me  about 
her — ^ where  is  she  % " 

"  Don't  mention  her,"  Miss  Maria  Osborne  said  hastily.  "  Her 
family  has  disgraced  itself  Her  father  cheated  papa,  and  as  for  her, 
she  is  never  to  be  mentioned  here^  This  was  Miss  Maria's  return 
for  George's  rudeness  about  the  Battle  of  Prague. 

"  Are  you  a  friend  of  Amelia's  % "  George  said,  bouncing  up. 
"  God  bless  you  for  it.  Miss  Swartz.  Don't  believe  what  the  girls 
say.     Sheh  not  to  blame  at  any  rate.     She's  the  best " 

"You  know  you're  not  to  speak  about  her,  George,"  cried  Jane. 
"  Papa  forbids  it." 

"  Who's  to  prevent  me  % "  George  cried  out.  "  I  will  speak  of 
her.  I  say  she's  the  best,  the  kindest,  the  gentlest,  the  sweetest 
girl  in  England ;  and  that,  bankrupt  or  no,  my  sisters  are  not  fit  to 
hold  candles  to  her.  If  you  like  her,  go  and  see  her.  Miss  Swartz  ; 
she  wants  friends  now;  and  I  say,  God  bless  everybody  who  be- 
friends her.  Anybody  who  speaks  kindly  of  her  is  my  friend; 
anybody  who  speaks  against  her  is  my  enemy.  Thank  you,  Miss 
Swartz  ;  "  and  he  went  up  and  wrung  her  hand. 

"  George  !  George  !  "  one  of  the  sisters  cried  imploringly. 

"  I  say,"  George  said  fiercely,  "  I  thank  everybody  who  loves 

Amelia  Sed "     He  stopped.      Old  Osborne  was  in  the  room 

with  a  face  livid  with  rage,  and  eyes  like  hot  coals. 

Though  George  had  stopped  in  his  sentence,  yet,  his  blood  being 
up,  he  was  not  to  be  cowed  by  all  the  generations  of  Osborne  ; 
rallying  instantly,  he  replied  to  the  bullying  look  of  his  father, 
with  another  so  indicative  of  resolution  and  defiance,  that  the 
elder  man  quailed  in  his  turn,  and  looked  away.  He  felt  that  the 
tussle  was  coming.  "  Mrs.  Haggistoun,  let  me  take  you  down  to 
dinner,"  he  said.  "  Give  your  arm  to  Miss  Swartz,  George,"  and 
they  marched. 

"  Miss  Swartz,  I  love  Ameha,  and  we've  been  engaged  almost  all 
our  lives,"  Osborne  said  to  his  partner ;  and  during  all  the  dinner, 
George  rattled  on  with  a  volubility  which  surprised  himself,  and 
made  his  father  doubly  nervous  for  the  fight  which  was  to  take 
place  as  soon  as  the  ladies  were  gone. 

The  difference  between  the  pair  was,  that  while  the  father  was 
violent  and  a  bully,  the  son  had  thrice  the  nerve  and  courage  of  the 
parent,  and  could  not  merely  make  an  attack,  but  resist  it;  and 


196  VANITY    FAIR 

finding  that  the  moment  was  now  come  when  the  contest  between 
him  and  his  father  was  to  be  decided,  he  took  his  dinner  with  perfect 
coolness  and  appetite  before  the  engagement  began.  Old  Osborne, 
on  the  contrary,  was  nervous,  and  drank  much.  He  floundered  in 
his  conversation  with  the  ladies,  his  neighbours :  George's  coolness 
only  rendering  him  more  angry.  It  made  him  half  mad  to  see  the 
calm  way  in  which  George,  flapping  his  napkin,  and  with  a  swagger- 
ing bow,  opened  the  door  for  the  ladies  to  leave  the  room ;  and  filling 
himself  a  glass  of  wine,  smacked  it,  and  looked  his  father  fiiU  in  the 
face,  as  if  to  say,  "Gentlemen  of  the  Guard,  fire  first."  The  old 
man  also  took  a  supply  of  ammunition,  but  his  decanter  clinked 
against  the  glass  as  he  tried  to  fill  it. 

After  giving  a  great  heave,  and  with  a  purple  choking  face,  he 
then  began.  "  How  dare  you,  sir,  mention  that  person's  name 
before  Miss  Swartz  to-day,  in  my  drawing-room?  I  ask  you,  sir, 
how  dare  you  do  it  *? " 

"Stop,  sir,"  says  George,  "don't  say  dare,  sir.  Dare  isn't  a 
word  to  be  used  to  a  Captain  in  the  British  Army." 

"  I  shall  say  what  I  like  to  my  son,  sir.  I  can  cut  him  off  with 
a  shilling  if  I  like.  I  can  make  him  a  beggar  if  I  like.  I  will  say 
what  I  like,"  the  elder  said. 

"  I'm  a  gentleman  though  I  am  your  son,  sir,"  George  answered 
haughtily.  "  Any  communications  which  you  have  to  make  to  me, 
or  any  orders  which  you  may  please  to  give,  I  beg  may  be  couched  in 
that  kind  of  language  which  I  am  accustomed  to  hear." 

Whenever  the  lad  assumed  his  haughty  manner,  it  always  created 
either  great  awe  or  great  irritation  in  the  parent.  Old  Osborne  stood 
in  secret  terror  of  his  son  as  a  better  gentleman  than  himself;  and 
perhaps  my  readers  may  have  remarked  in  their  experience  of  this 
Vanity  Fair  of  ours,  that  there  is  no  character  which  a  low-minded 
man  so  much  mistrusts  as  that  of  a  gentleman. 

"My  father  didn't  give  me  the  education  you  have  had,  nor 
the  advantages  you  have  had,  nor  the  money  you  have  had.  If 
I  had  kept  the  company  some  folks  have  had  through  my  7neans, 
perhaps  my  son  wouldn't  have  any  reason  to  brag,  sir,  of  his 
superiority  and  West  E^id  airs  (these  words  were  uttered  in  the 
elder  Osborne's  most  sarcastic  tones).  But  it  wasn't  considered 
the  part  of  a  gentleman,  in  my  time,  for  a  man  to  insult  his  father. 
If  I'd  done  any  such  thing,  mine  would  have  kicked  me  down- 
stairs, sir." 

"  I  never  insulted  you,  sir.  I  said  I  begged  you  to  remember 
your  son  was  a  gentleman  as  well  as  yourself  I  know  very  well 
that  you  give  me  plenty  of  money,"  said  George  (fingering  a 
bundle   of   notes   which   he   had   got   in  the   morning   from   Mr. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  197 

Chopper).     "  You  tell  it  me  often  enough,  sir.     There's  no  fear  of 
my  forgetting  it." 

"I  wish  you'd  remember  other  things  as  well,  sir,"  the  sire 
answered.  "I  wish  you'd  remember  that  in  this  house — so  long 
as  you  choose  to  honxmr  it  witli  your  company^  Captain — I'm 
the  master,  and  that  name,  and  that  that — that  you — that  I 
say " 

"  That  what,  sir  % "  George  asked,  with  scarcely  a  sneer,  filling 
another  glass  of  claret. 

" ! "  burst  out  his  father  with  a  screaming  oath — 

"  that  the  name  of  those  Sedleys  never  be  mentioned  here,  sir — not 
one  of  the  whole  damned  lot  of  'em,  sir." 

"  It  wasn't  I,  sir,  that  introduced  Miss  Sedley's  name.  It  was 
my  sisters  who  spoke  ill  of  her  to  Miss  Swartz ;  and  by  Jove  I'll 
defend  her  wherever  I  go.  Nobody  shall  speak  lightly  of  that  name 
in  my  presence.  Our  family  has  done  her  quite  enough  injury 
already,  I  think,  and  may  leave  off  reviling  her  now  she's  down.  I'll 
shoot  any  man  but  you  who  says  a  word  against  her." 

"  Go  on,  sir,  go  on,"  the  old  gentleman  said,  his  eyes  starting  out 
of  his  head. 

"Go  on  about  what,  sir?  about  the  way  in  which  we've  treated 
that  angel  of  a  girl  %  Who  told  me  to  love  her  %  It  was  your  doing. 
I  might  have  chosen  elsewhere,  and  looked  higher,  perhaps,  than  your 
society  :  but  I  obeyed  you.  And  now  that  her  heart's  mine  you  give 
me  orders  to  fling  it  away,  and  punish  her,  kill  her  perhaps — for  the 
faults  of  other  people.  It's  a  shame,  by  heavens,"  said  George, 
working  himself  up  into  passion  and  enthusiasm  as  he  proceeded, 
"  to  play  at  fast  and  loose  with  a  young  girl's  affections — and  with 
such  an  angel  as  that — one  so  superior  to  the  people  amongst  whom 
she  lived,  that  she  might  have  excited  envy,  only  she  was  so  good 
and  gentle,  that  it's  a  wonder  anybody  dared  to  hate  her.  If  I  desert 
her,  sir,  do  you  suppose  she  forgets  me  % " 

"I  ain't  going  to  have  any  of  this  dam  sentimental  nonsense 
and  humbug  here,  sir,"  the  father  cried  6atr~" There  shall  be" 
no  beggar-raaniages  in  my  family.  If  you  choose  to  fling  away 
eight  thousand  a  year,  which  you  may  have  for  the  asking,  you 
may  do  it :  but  by  Jove  you  take  your  pack  and  walk  out  of  this 
house,  sir.  Will  you  do  as  I  tell  you,  once  for  all,  sir,  or  will 
you  nof?" 

"  Marry  that  mulatto  woman  % "  George  said,  pulling  up  his  shirt- 
collars.  "  I  don't  like  the  colour,  sir.  Ask  the  black  that  sweeps 
opposite  Fleet  Market,  sir.  Fm  not  going  to  marry  a  Hottentot 
Venus." 

Mr.  Osborne  pulled  frantically  at  the  cord  by  which  he  was 


198  VANITY   FAIR 

accustomed  to  summon  the  butler  when  he  wanted  wine — and, 
almost  black  in  the  face,  ordered  that  functionary  to  call  a  coach  for 
Captain  Osborne. 

"  I've  done  it,"  said  George,  coming  into  the  Slaughters'  an  hour 
afterwards,  looking  very  pale. 

"  What,  my  boy  1 "  says  Dobbin. 

George  told  what  had  passed  between  his  father  and  himself. 

"  I'll  marry  her  to-morrow,"  he  said  with  an  oath.  "  I  love  her 
more  every  day,  Dobbin." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  MARRIAGE  AND  PART  OF  A  HONEYMOON 

ENEMIES  the  most  obstinate  and  courageous  can't  hold  out 
against  starvation ;  so  the  elder  Osborne  felt  himself  pretty- 
easy  about  his  adversary  in  the  encounter  we  have  just 
described;  and  as  soon  as  George's  supphes  fell  short,  confidently- 
expected  his  unconditional  submission.  It  was  unlucky,  to  be  sure, 
that  the  lad  should  have  secured  a  stock  of  provisions  on  the  very  day 
when  the  first  encounter  took  place;  but  this  relief  was  only  tem- 
porary, old  Osborne  thought,  and  would  but  delay  George's  surrender. 
No  communication  passed  between  father  and  son  for  some  days. 
The  former  was  sulky  at  this  silence,  but  not  disquieted ;  for,  as  he 
said,  he  knew  where  he  could  put  the  screw  upon  George,  and  only 
waited  the  result  of  that  operation.  He  told  the  sisters  the  upshot 
of  the  dispute  between  them,  but  ordered  them  to  take  no  notice  of 
the  matter,  and  welcome  George  on  his  return  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  His  cover  was  laid  as  usual  every  day,  and  perhaps  the 
old  gentleman  rather  anxiously  expected  him  ;  but  he  never  came. 
Some  one  inquired  at  the  Slaughters'  regarding  him,  where  it  was 
said  that  he  and  his  fiiend  Captain  Dobbin  had  left  town. 

One  gusty,  raw  day  at  the  end  of  April — the  rain  whipping  the 
pavement  of  that  ancient  street  where  the  old  Slaughters'  Coffee- 
House  was  once  situated — George  Osborne  came  into  the  coffee-room, 
looking  very  haggard  and  pale ;  although  dressed  rather  smartly  in  a 
blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  and  a  neat  buff"  waistcoat  of  the  fashion 
of  those  days.  Here  was  his  friend  Captain  Dobbin,  in  blue  and 
brass  too,  having  abandoned  the  military  fi*ock  and  French-grey 
trousers,  which  were  the  usual  coverings  of  his  lanky  person. 

Dobbin  had  been  in  the  coffee-room  for  an  hour  or  more.  He 
had  tried  all  the  papers,  but  could  not  read  them.  He  had  looked 
at  the  clock  many  scores  of  times ;  and  at  the  street,  where  the  rain 
was  pattering  down,  and  the  people  as  they  cHnked  by  in  pattens, 
left  long  reflections  on  the  shining  stone  :  he  tattooed  at  the  table  : 
he  bit  his  nails  most  completely,  and  nearly  to  the  quick  (he  was 
accustomed  to  ornament  his  great  big  hands  in  this  way) :  he  balanced 
the  teaspoon  dexterously  on  the  milk  jug :  upset  it,  &c.  &c. ;  and 


200  VANITY    FAIR 

in  fact  showed  those  signs  of  disquietude,  and  practised  those  despe- 
rate attempts  at  amusement,  which  men  are  accustomed  to  employ 
when  very  anxious,  and  expectant,  and  perturbed  in  mind. 

Some  of  his  comrades,  gentlemen  who  used  the  room,  joked  him 
about  the  splendour  of  his  costume  and  his  agitation  of  manner.  One 
asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  be  married  1  Dobbin  laughed,  and  said 
he  would  send  his  acquaintance  (Major  WagstafF  of  the  Engineers) 
a  piece  of  cake  when  that  event  took  place.  At  length  Captain 
Osborne  made  his  appearance,  very  smartly  dressed,  but  very  pale 
and  agitated  as  we  have  said.  He  wiped  his  pale  face  with  a  large 
yellow  bandanna  pocket-handkerchief  that  was  prodigiously  scented. 
He  shook  hands  with  Dobbin,  looked  at  the  clock,  and  told  John, 
the  waiter,  to  bring  him  some  cura^oa.  Of  this  cordial  he  swallowed 
off  a  couple  of  glasses  with  nervous  eagerness.  His  friend  asked 
with  some  interest  about  his  health. 

"  Couldn't  get  a  wink  of  sleep  till  daylight,  Dob,"  said  he. 
"  Infernal  headache  and  fever.  Got  up  at  nine,  and  went  down  to 
the  Hummums  for  a  bath.  I  say,  Dob,  I  feel  just  as  I  did  on  the 
morning  I  went  out  with  Rocket  at  Quebec." 

"  So  do  I,"  William  responded.  "  I  was  a  deuced  deal  more 
nervous  than  you  were  that  morning.  You  made  a  famous  breakfast, 
I  remember.     Eat  something  now." 

"  You're  a  good  old  fellow.  Will.  I'll  drink  your  health,  old  boy, 
and  farewell  to " 

"  No,  no ;  two  glasses  are  enough,"  Dobbin  interrupted  him. 
"  Here,  take  away  the  liqueurs,  John.  Have  some  cayenne-pepper 
with  your  fowl.     Make  haste  though,  for  it  is  time  we  were  there." 

It  was  about  half-an-hour  from  twelve  when  this  brief  meeting 
and  colloquy  took  place  between  the  two  captains.  A  coach,  into 
which  Captain  Osborne's  servant  put  his  master's  desk  and  dressing- 
case,  had  been  in  waiting  for  some  time  ;  and  into  this  the  two 
gentlemen  hurried  under  an  umbrella,  and  the  valet  mounted  on  the 
box,  cursing  the  rain  and  the  dampness  of  the  coachman  who  was 
steaming  beside  him.  "  We  shall  find  a  better  trap  than  this  at  the 
church-door,"  says  he  ;  "  that's  a  comfort."  And  the  carriage  drove 
on,  taking  the  road  down  Piccadilly,  where  Apsley  House  and  St. 
George's  Hospital  wore  red  jackets  still ;  where  there  were  oil-lamps ; 
where  Achilles  was  not  yet  bom  :  nor  the  Pimlico  arch  raised ;  nor 
the  hideous  equestrian  monster  which  pervades  it  and  the  neighbour- 
hood;— and  so  they  drove  down  by  Brompton  to  a  certain  chapel 
near  the  Fulham  Road  there. 

A  chariot  was  in  waiting  with  four  horses ;  likewise  a  coach  of 
the  kind  called  glass  coaches.  Only  a  very  few  idlers  were  collected 
on  account  of  the  dismal  rain. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  201 

"  Hang  it !  "  said  George,  "  I  said  only  a  pair." 

"  My  master  would  have  four,"  said  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley's  servant, 
who  was  in  waiting ;  and  he  and  Mr.  Osborne's  man  agreed  as  they 
followed  George  and  William  into  the  church,  that  it  was  a  "  reg'lar 
shabby  turn  hout;  and  with  scar(5e  so  much  as  a  breakfast  or  a 
wedding  faviour." 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  our  old  friend,  Jos  Sedley,  coming  forward. 
"  You're  five  minutes  late,  George,  my  boy.  What  a  day,  eh  ? 
Demmy,  it's  like  the  commencement  of  the  rainy  season  in  Bengal. 
But  you'll  find  my  carriage  is  water-tight.  Come  along,  my  mother 
and  Emmy  are  in  the  vestry." 

Jos  Sedley  was  splendid.  He  was  fatter  than  ever.  His  shirt- 
collars  were  higher;  his  face  was  redder;  his  shirt-frill  flaunted 
gorgeously  out  of  his  variegated  waistcoat.  Varnished  boots  were 
not_  invented  as  yet ;  but  the  Hessians  on  his  beautiftil  legs  shone  so, 
that  they  must  have  been  the  identical  pair  in  which  the  gentleman 
in  the  old  picture  used  to  shave  himself;  and  on  his  light  green  coat 
there  bloomed  a  fine  wedding  favour,  like  a  great  white  spreading 
magnolia. 

In  a  word,  George  had  thrown  the  great  cast.  He  was  going 
to  be  married.  Hence  his  pallor  and  nervousness — his  sleepless 
night  and  agitation  in  the  morning.  I  have  heard  people  who  have 
gone  through  the  same  thing  own  to  the  same  emotion.  After 
three  or  four  ceremonies,  you  get  accustomed  to  it,  no  doubt ;  but 
the  first  dip,  everybody  allows,  is  awful. 

The  bride  was  dressed  in  a  brown  silk  pelisse  (as  Captain 
Dobbin  has  since  informed  me),  and  wore  a  straw  bonnet  with  a 
pink  ribbon;  over  the  bonnet  she  had  a  veil  of  white  Chantilly 
lace,  a  gift  from  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley,  her  brother.  Captain  Dobbin 
liimself  had  asked  leave  to  present  her  with  a  gold  chain  and  watch, 
which  she  sported  on  this  occasion ;  and  her  mother  gave  her  her 
diamond  brooch — almost  the  only  trinket  which  was  left  to  the  old 
lady.  As  the  service  went  on,  Mrs.  Sedley  sat  and  whimpered  a 
great  deal  in  a  pew,  consoled  by  the  Irish  maid-servant  and  Mrs. 
Clapp  from  the  lodgings.  Old  Sedley  would  not  be  present.  Jos 
acted  for  his  father,  giving  away  the  bride,  whilst  Captain  Dobbin 
stepped  up  as  groomsman  to  his  friend  George. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  church  besides  the  officiating  persons 
and  the  small  marriage  party  and  their  attendants.  The  two 
valets  sat  aloof  superciliously.  The  rain  came  rattling  down  on  the 
windows.  In  the  intervals  of  the  service  you  heard  it,  and  the 
sobbing  of  old  Mm.  Sedley  in  the  pew.  The  parson's  tones  echoed 
sadly  through  the  empty  walls.  Osborne's  "  I  will "  was  sounded 
in  very  deep  bass.     Emmy's  response  came  fluttering  up  to  her  lips 


202  VANITY    FAIR 

from  her  heart,  but  was  scarcely  heard  by  anybody  except  Captain 
Dobbin. 

When  the  service  was  completed,  Jos  Sedley  came  forward  and 
kissed  his  sister,  the  bride,  for  the  first  time  for  many  months — 
George's  look  of  gloom  had  gone,  and  he  seemed  quite  proud  and 
radiant.  "It's  your  turn,  William,"  says  he,  putting  his  hand 
fondly  upon  Dobbin's  shoulder ;  and  Dobbin  went  up  and  touched 
Amelia  on  the  cheek. 

Then  they  went  into  the  vestry  and  signed  the  register.  "  God 
bless  you,  old  Dobbin,"  George  said,  grasping  him  by  the  hand,  with 
something  very  like  moisture  glistening  in  his  eyes.  WiUiam  replied 
only  by  nodding  his  head.     His  heart  was  too  full  to  say  much. 

"  Write  directly,  and  come  down  as  soon  as  you  can,  you  know," 
Osborne  said.  After  Mrs.  Sedley  had  taken  an  hysterical  adieu  of 
her  daughter,  the  pair  went  off  to  the  carriage.  "  Get  out  of  the 
way,  you  little  devils,"  George  cried  to  a  small  crowd  of  damp 
urchins  that  were  hanging  about  the  chapel  door.  The  rain  drove 
into  the  bride  and  bridegroom's  faces  as  they  passed  to  the  chariot. 
The  postillions'  favours  draggled  on  their  dripping  jackets.  The 
few  children  made  a  dismal  cheer,  as  the  carriage,  splashing  mud, 
drove  away. 

William  Dobbin  stood  in  the  church-porch,  looking  at  it,  a 
queer  figure.  The  small  crew  of  spectators  jeered  him.  He  was 
not  thinking  about  them  or  their  laughter. 

"Come  home  and  have  some  tiffin,  Dobbin,"  a  voice  cried 
behind  him ;  as  a  pudgy  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  the 
honest  fellow's  reverie  was  interrupted.  But  the  Captain  had  no 
heart  to  go  a-feasting  with  Jos  Sedley.  He  put  the  weeping  old  lady 
and  her  attendants  into  the  carriage  along  with  Jos,  and  left  them 
without  any  farther  words  passing.  This  carriage,  too,  drove  away, 
and  the  urchins  gave  another  sarcastical  cheer. 

"  Here,  you  little  beggars,"  Dobbin  said,  giving  some  sixpences 
amongst  them,  and  then  went  off"  by  himself  through  the  rain. 
It  was  all  over.  They  were  married,  and  happy,  he  prayed  God. 
Never  since  he  was  a  boy  had  he  felt  so  miserable  and  so  lonely. 
He  longed  with  a  heart-sick  yearning  for  the  first  few  days  to  be 
i  over,  that  he  might  see  her  again. 

Some  ten  days  after  the  above  ceremony,  three  young  men  of 
our  acquaintance  were  enjoying  that  beautiful  prospect  of  bow- 
windows  on  the  one  side  and  blue  sea  on  the  other,  which  Brighton 
affords  to  the  traveller.  Sometimes  it  is  towards  the  ocean — smil- 
ing with  countless  dimples,  speckled  with  white  sails,  with  a 
hundred  bathing-machines  kissing  the  skirt  of  his  blue  garment — 


A   KOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  203 

that  the  Londoner  looks  enraptured :  sometimes,  on  the  contrary, 
a  lover  of  human  nature  rather  than  of  prospects  of  any  kind,  it  is 
towards  the  bow-windows  that  he  turns,  and  that  swarm  of  human 
life  which  they  exhibit.  From  one  issue  the  notes  of  a  piano,  which 
a  young  lady  in  ringlets  practises  six  hours  daily,  to  the  delight  of 
the  fellow-lodgers :  at  another,  lovely  Polly,  the  nursemaid,  may  be 
seen  dandling  Master  Omnium  in  her  arms  :  whilst  Jacob,  his 
papa,  is  beheld  eating  prawns,  and  devouring  the  Times  for  break- 
fast, at  the  window  below.  Yonder  are  the  Misses  Leery,  who  are 
looking  out  for  the  young  officers  of  the  Heavies,  who  are  pretty 
sure  to  be  pacing  the  cliff;  or  again  it  is  a  City  man,  with  a 
nautical  turn,  and  a  telescope,  the  size  of  a  six-pounder,  who  has  his 
instrument  pointed  seawards,  so  as  to  command  every  pleasure-boat, 
herring-boat,  or  bathing-machine  that  comes  to,  or  quits,  the  shore, 
&c.  &c.  But  have  we  any  leisure  for  a  description  of  Brighton  1 — 
for  Brighton,  a  clean  Naples  with  genteel  lazzaroni — for  Brighton, 
that  always  looks  brisk,  gay  and  gaudy,  like  a  harlequin's  jacket — 
for  Brighton,  which  used  to  be  seven  hours  distant  from  London  at 
the  time  of  our  story ;  which  is  now  only  a  hundred  minutes  off ; 
and  which  may  approach  who  knows  how  much  nearer,  unless  Join- 
ville  comes  and  untimely  bombards  it. 

"What  a  monstrous  fine  girl  that  is  in  the  lodgings  over  the 
milliner's,"  one  of  these  three  promenaders  remarked  to  the  other ; 
"  Gad,  Crawley,  did  you  see  what  a  wink  she  gave  me  as  I  passed  1 " 

"  Don't  break  her  heart,  Jos,  you  rascal,"  said  another.  "  Don't 
trifle  with  her  affections,  you  Don  Juan  !  " 

"  Get  away,"  said  Jos  Sedley,  quite  pleased,  and  leering  up  at 
the  maid-servant  in  question  with  a  most  killing  ogle.  Jos  was 
even  more  splendid  at  Brighton  than  he  had  been  at  his  sister's 
marriage.  He  had  brilliant  under-waistcoats,  any  one  of  which 
would  have  set  up  a  moderate  buck.  He  sported  a  military  frock- 
coat,  ornamented  with  frogs,  knobs,  black  buttons,  and  meandering 
embroidery.  He  had  affected  a  miUtary  appearance  and  habits  of 
late ;  and  he  walked  with  his  two  friends,  who  were  of  that  pro- 
fession, clinking  his  boot-spurs,  swaggering  prodigiously,  and  shooting 
death-glances  at  all  the  servant-girls  who  were  worthy  to  be  slain. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  boys,  till  the  ladies  return  1 "  the  buck  asked. 
The  ladies  were  out  to  Rottingdean  in  his  carriage  on  a  drive. 

"  Let's  have  a  game  at  billiards,"  one  of  his  friends  said — the 
tall  one,  with  lacquered  mustachios. 

"  No,  dammy ;  no,  Captain,"  Jos  replied,  rather  alarmed.  "  No 
billiards  to-day,  Crawley,  my  boy ;  yesterday  was  enough." 

"You  play  very  well,"  said  Crawley,  laughing.  "Don't  he, 
Osborne  ?     How  well  he  made  that  five  stroke,  eh  1 " 


204  VANITY    PAIR 

"  Famous,"  Osborne  said.  "  Jos  is  a  devil  of  a  fellow  at  billiards, 
and  at  everything  else,  too.  I  wish  there  were  any  tiger-hunting 
about  here  !  we  might  go  and  kill  a  few  before  dinner.  (There  goes 
a  fine  girl !  what  an  ankle,  eh,  Jos  1)  Tell  us  that  story  about  the 
tiger-hunt,  and  the  way  you  did  for  him  in  the  jungle — it's  a  wonder- 
ful story  that,  Crawley."  Here  George  Osborne  gave  a  yawn.  '*  It's 
rather  slow  work,"  said  he,  "  down  here ;  "  what  shall  we  do  % " 

"  Shall  we  go  and  look  at  some  horses  that  Snaffler's  just  brought 
from  Lewes  fair  ? "  Crawley  said. 

"  Suppose  we  go  and  have  some  jellies  at  Button's,"  said  the 
rogue  Jos,  willing  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  "  Devilish  fine 
gal  at  Button's." 

"  Suppose  we  go  and  see  the  Lightning  come  in,  it's  just  about 
time?"  George  said.  This  advice  prevailing  over  the  stables  and 
the  jelly,  they  turned  towards  the  coach-office  to  witness  the 
Lightning's  arrival. 

As  they  passed,  they  met  the  carriage — Jos  Sedley's  open 
carriage,  with  its  magnificent  armorial  bearings — that  splendid  con- 
veyance in. which  he  used  to  drive  about  at  Cheltenham,  majestic 
and  solitary,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  his  hat  cocked ;  or,  more 
happy,  with  ladies  by  his  side. 

Two  were  in  the  carriage  now  :  one  a  little  person,  with  light  hair, 
and  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion ;  the  other  in  a  brown  silk 
pelisse,  and  a  straw  bonnet  with  pink  ribbons,  with  a  rosy,  round, 
happy  face,  that  did  you  good  to  behold.  She  checked  the  carriage 
as  it  neared  the  three  gentlemen,  after  which  exercise  of  authority 
she  looked  rather  nervous,  and  then  began  to  blush  most  absurdly. 
"We  have  had  a  delightful  drive,  George,"  she  said,  "and — and 
we're  so  glad  to  come  back ;  and,  Joseph,  don't  let  him  be  late." 

"  Don't  be  leading  our  husbands  into  mischief,  Mr.  Sedley,  you 
wicked,  wicked  man,  you,"  Rebecca  said,  shaking  at  Jos  a  pretty 
little  finger  covered  with  the  neatest  French  kid  glove.  "No 
billiards,  no  smoking,  no  naughtiness  !  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Crawley — ah  now  !  upon  my  honour ! "  was 
all  Jos  could  ejaculate  by  way  of  reply ;  but  he  managed  to  fall  into 
a  tolerable  attitude,  with  his  head  lying  on  his  shoulder,  grinning 
upwards  at  his  victim,  with  one  hand  at  his  back,  which  he  supported 
on  his  cane,  and  the  other  hand  (the  one  with  the  diamond  ring) 
fumbling  in  his  shirt-frill  and  among  his  under-waistcoats.  As  the  car- 
riage drove  off  he  kissed  the  diamond  hand  to  the  fair  ladies  within. 
He  wished  all  Cheltenham,  all  Chowringhee,  all  Calcutta,  could  see 
him  in  that  position,  waving  his  hand  to  such  a  beauty,  and  in  com- 
pany with  such  a  famous  buck  as  Rawdon  Crawley  of  the  Guards. 

Our  young  bride  and  bridegroom  had  chosen  Brighton  as  the 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  205 

place  where  they  would  pass  the  first  few  days  after  their  marriage  ; 
and  having  engaged  apartments  at  the  Ship  Inn,  enjoyed  themselves 
there  in  great  comfort  and  quietude,  until  Jos  presently  joined  them. 
Nor  was  he  the  only  companion  they  found  there.  As  they  were 
coming  into  the  hotel  from  a  seaside  walk  one  afternoon,  on  whom 
should  they  light  but  Rebecca  and  herhusb  and  !  The  recognition 
was  immediate.  Rebecca  flew  into  the  arms  of  her  dearest  friend. 
Crawley  and  Osborne  shook  hands  together  cordially  enough  :  and 
Becky,  in  the  course  of  a  verj'  few  hours,  found  means  to  make  the 
latter  forget  that  little  unpleasant  passage  of  words  which  had 
happened  between  them.  "Do  you  remember  the  last  time  we 
met  at  Miss  Crawley's,  when  I  was  so  rude  to  you,  dear  Captain 
Osborne  ?  I  thought  you  seemed  careless  about  dear  Amelia.  It 
was  that  made  me  angry :  and  so  pert :  and  so  unkind  :  and  so 
ungrateful.  Do  forgive  me  ! "  Rebecca  said,  and  she  held  out  her 
hand  with  so  frank  and  winning  a  grace,  that  Osborne  could  not. 
but  take  it.  By  humbly  and  frankly^acknowledging  yourself  to  be^  , 
injhe  wrong,  there  is  no  knowing,  my  s^i,  what  good  you  may  4o.  ' 
I  knew  once  a  gentleman  and  very  worthy  practitioner  in  Vanity 
Fair,  who  used  to  do  little  wrongs  to  his  neighbours  on  purpose, 
and,  in  order  to  apologise  for  them  in  an  open  and  manly  way  after- 
wajds — and  what  ensued?  My  friend  Crocky  Doyle  was  liked^ 
everywhere,  and  deemed  to  be  rather  impetuous — but  the  honestest 
fellow.     Becky's  humility  passed  for  sincerity  with  George  Osborne. 

These  two  yoimg  couples  had  plenty  of  tales  to  relate  to  each 
other.  The  marriages  of  either  were  discussed ;  and  their  prospects 
in  life  canvassed  with  the  greatest  frankness  and  interest  on  both 
sides.  George's  marriage  was  to  be  made  known  to  his  father 
by  his  friend  Captain  Dobbin ;  and  young  Osborne  trembled  rather 
for  the  result  of  that  communication.  Miss  Crawley,  on  whom  all 
Rawdon's  hopes  depended,  still  held  out.  Unable  to  make  an  entry 
into  her  house  in  Park  Lane,  her  affectionate  nephew  and  niece  had 
followed  her  to  Brighton,  where  they  had  emissaries  continually 
planted  at  her  door. 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  some  of  Rawdon's  friends  who  are  always 
about  our  door,"  Rebecca  said,  laughing.  "Did  you  ever  see  a 
dun,  my  dear ;  or  a  bailiff  and  his  man  ?  Two  of  the  abominable 
wretches  watched  all  last  week  at  the  greengrocer's  opposite,  and 
we  oould  not  get  away  until  Sunday.  If  aunty  does  not  relent, 
what  shall  we  do  ? " 

Rawdon,  with  roars  of  laughter,  related  a  dozen  amusing 
anecdotes  of  his  duns,  and  Rebecca's  adroit  treatment  of  them.  He 
vowed  with  a  great  oath,  that  there  was  no  woman  in  Eim)pe  who 
could  talk  a  creditor  over  as  she  could.     Almost  immediately  after 


2o6  VANITY    FAIR 

their  marriage,  her  practice  had  begun,  and  her  husband  found  the 

ytnniense  value  of  such  a  wife.     They  had  credit  in  plenty,  but  they 

/had  bills   also  in  abundance,   and   laboured   under   a   scarcity  of 

(    ready  money.      Did   these   debt-difficulties   affect   Rawdon's  good 

\  spirits?     No.     Everybody  in  Vanity  Fair  must  have  remarked  how 

I  well  those  live  who  are  comfortably  and  thoroughly  in  debt :  how 

)  they  deny  themselves  nothing ;  how  jolly  and  easy  they  are  in  their 

(    minds.     Rawdon  and  his  wife  had  the  very  best  apartments  at  the 

\  inn  at  Brighton ;  the  landlord,  as  he  brought  in  the  first  dish, 

\  bowed  before  them   as   to   his  greatest  customers :    and  Rawdon 

^bused  the  dinners  and  wine  with  an  audacity  which  no  grandee 

in  the  land  could  surpass.     Long   custom,   a   manly  appearance, 

faultless  boots  and  clothes,  and  a  happy  fierceness  of  manner,  will 

often  help  a  man  as  much  as  a  great  balance  at  the  banker's. 

The  two  wedding  parties  met  constantly  in  each  other's  apart- 
ments. After  two  or  three  nights  the  gentlemen  of  an  evening  had 
a  little  piquet,  as  their  wives  sate  and  chatted  apart.  This  pastime, 
and  the  arrival  of  Jos  Sedley,  who  made  his  appearance  in  his  grand 
open  carriage,  and  who  played  a  few  games  at  billiards  with  Captain 
Crawley,  replenished  Rawdon's  purse  somewhat,  and  gave  him  the 
benefit  of  that  ready  money  for  which  the  greatest  spirits  are  some- 
times at  a  standstill. 

So  the  three  gentlemen  walked  down  to  see  the  Lightning  coach 
come  in.  Punctual  to  the  minute,  the  coach  crowded  inside  and  out, 
the  guard  blowing  his  accustomed  tune  on  the  horn — the  Lightning 
came  tearing  down  the  street,  and  pulled  up  at  the  coach-office. 

"  Hullo !  there's  old  Dobbin,"  George  cried,  quite  delighted  to 
see  his  old  friend  perched  on  the  roof;  and  whose  promised  visit  to 
Brighton  had  been  delayed  until  now.  "  How  are  you,  old  fellow "? 
Glad  you're  come  down.  Emmy  '11  be  delighted  to  see  you,"  Osborne 
said,  shaking  his  comrade  warmly  by  the  hand  as  soon  as  his  descent 
from  the  vehicle  was  effected — and  then  he  added,  in  a  lower  and 
agitated  voice,  "  What's  the  news  1  Have  you  been  in  Russell  Square  % 
What  does  the  governor  say  %     Tell  me  everything." 

Dobbin  looked  very  pale  and  grave.  I've  seen  your  father,"  said 
he.  *'  How's  Amelia — Mrs.  George  %  I'll  tell  you  all  the  news  pre- 
sently :  but  I've  brought  the  great  news  of  all :  and  that  is " 

"  Out  with  it,  old  fellow,"  George  said. 

"  We're  ordered  to  Belgium.  All  the  army  goes — Guards  and 
all.  Heavytop's  got  the  gout,  and  is  mad  at  not  being  able  to  move. 
O'Dowd  goes  in  command,  and  we  embark  from  Chatham  next  week." 
This  news  of  war  could  not  but  come  with  a  shock  upon  our  lovers, 
and  caused  all  these  gentlemen  to  look  very  serious. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CAPTAIN  DOBBIN  PROCEEDS  ON  HIS  CANVASS 


WHAT  is  the  secret  mesmerism  which  friendship 
and  under  the  operation  of  which  a  person  ordinarily 
sluggish,  or  cold,  or  timid  becomes  wise,  active,  and  re- 
solute, in  another's  behalf?  As  Alexis,  after  a  few  passes  from  Dr. 
Elliotson,  despises  pain,  reads  with  the  back  of  his  head,  sees  miles 
off,  looks  into  next  week,  and  performs  other  wonders,  of  which,  in 
his  own  private  normal  condition,  he  is  quite  incapable ;  so  you  see, 
in  the  affairs  of  the  world  and  under  the  magnetism  of  friendship,  the 
modest  man  become  bold,  the  shy  confident,  the  lazy  active,  or  the 
impetuous  prudent  and  peaceful.  What  is  it,  on  the  other  hand,^ 
that  makes  the  lawyer  eschew  his  own  cause,  and  call  in  his  learned 
brother  as  an  adviser  ?  And  what  causes  the  doctor,  when  ailing,  to 
send  for  his  rival,  and  not  sit  down  and  examine  his  own  tongue  in 
the  chimney-glass,  or  write  his  own  prescription  at  his  study-table  'i 
I  throw  out  these  queries  for  intelligent  readers  to  answer,  who  know, 
at  once,  how  credulous  we  are,  and  how  sceptical,  how  soft  and  how 
obstinate,  how  firm  for  others  and  how  diffident  about  ourselves :  K 
meanwhile  it  is  certain  that  our  friend  William  Dobbin,  -who  was 
personally  of  so  complying  a  disposition  that  if  his  parents  had  pressed 
him  much,  it  is  probable  he  would  have  stepped  down  into  the  kitchen 
and  married  the  cook,  and  who,  to  fiirther  his  own  interests,  would 
have  found  the  most  insuperable  difficulty  in  walking  across  the  street, 
found  himself  as  busy  and  eager  .in  the  conduct  of  George  Osborne's  j 
affairs,  as  the  most  selfish  tactician  could  be  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own.  | 
Whilst  our  friend  George  and  his  young  wife  were  enjoying  the 
fii-st  blushing  days  of  the  honeymoon  at  Brighton,  honest  William  was 
left  as  George's  plenipotentiary  in  London,  to  transact  all  the  business 
part  of  the  marriage.  His  duty  it  was  to  call  upon  old  Sedley  and 
his  wife,  and  to  keep  the  former  in  good-humour :  to  draw  Jos  and 
his  brother-in-law  nearer  together,  so  that  Jos's  position  and  dignity, 
as  Collector  of  Boggley  Wollah,  might  compensate  for  his  father's  loss 
of  station,  and  tend  to  reconcile  old  Osborne  to  the  alliance  :  and 
finally,  to  communicate  it  to  the  latter  in  such  a  way  as  should  least 
irritate  the  old  gentleman. 


log  VANITY    FAIR 

Now,  before  he  faced  the  head  of  the  Osborne  house  with  the  news 
which  it  was  his  duty  to  tell,  Dobbin  bethought  him  that  it  would 
be  politic  to  make  friends  of  ihe  rest  of  the  family,  and,  if  possible, 
have  the  ladies  on  his  side.  They  can't  be  angry  in  their  hearts, 
thought  he.  No  woman  ever  was  really  angry  at  a  romantic  marriage. 
A  little  crying  out,  and  they  must  come  round  to  their  brother ;  when 
the  three  of  us  will  lay  siege  to  old  Mr.  Osborne.  So  this  Machia- 
vellian captain  of  infantry  cast  about  him  for  some  happy  means  or 
stratagem  by  which  he  could  gently  and  gradually  bring  the  Misses 
Osborne  to  a  knowledge  of  their  brother's  secret. 

By  a  little  inquiry  regarding  his  mother's  engagements,  he  was 
pretty  soon  able  to  find  out  by  whom  of  her  ladyship's  Mends  parties 
were  given  at  that  season ;  where  he  would  be  likely  to  meet  Osborne's 
sisters;  and,  though  he  had  that  abhorrence  of  routs  and  evening 
parties,  which  many  sensible  men,  alas  !  entertain,  he  soon  found  one 
where  the  Misses  Osborne  were  to  be  present.  Making  his  appearance 
at  the  ball,  where  he  danced  a  couple  of  sets  with  both  of  them,  and 
was  prodigiously  polite,  he  actually  had  the  courage  to  ask  Miss 
Osborne  for  a  few  minutes'  conversation  at  an  early  hour  the  next 
day,  when  he  had,  he  said,  to  communicate  to  her  news  of  the  very 
greatest  interest. 

What  was  it  that  made  her  start  back,  and  gaze  upon  him  for 
a  moment,  and  then  on  the  ground  at  her  feet,  and  make  as  if  she 
would  faint  on  his  arm,  had  he  not  by  opportunely  treading  on  her 
toes,  brought  the  young  lady  back  to  self-control  ?  Why  was  she  so 
violently  agitated  at  Dobbin's  request  1  This  can  never  be  known. 
But  when  he  came  the  next  day,  Maria  was  not  in  the  drawing- 
room  with  her  sister,  and  Miss  Wirt  went  off"  for  the  purpose  of 
fetching  the  latter,  and  the  Captain  and  Miss  Osborne  were  left 
together.  They  were  both  so  silent  that  the  tick-tock  of  the 
Sacrifice  of  Iphigenia  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  became  quite  rudely 
audible. 

"  What  a  nice  party  it  was  last  night,"  Miss  Osborne  at  length 
began  encouragingly  ;  "  and — how  you're  improved  in  your  dancing. 
Captain  Dobbin.  Surely  somebody  has  taught  you,"  she  added, 
with  amiable  archness. 

"  You  should  see  me  dance  a  reel  with  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  of 
ours;  and  a  jig — did  you  ever  see  a  jig"?  But  I  think  anybody 
could  dance  with  you,  Miss  Osborne,  who  dance  so  well." 

"Is  the  Major's  lady  young  and  beautifiil.  Captain?"  the  fair 
questioner  continued.  "  Ah,  what  a  terrible  thing  it  must  be  to 
be  a  soldier's  wife !  I  wonder  they  have  any  spirits  to  dance,  and 
in  these  dreadful  times  of  war,  too  !  0  Captain  Dobbin,  I  tremble 
sometimes  when  I  think  of  our  dearest  George,  and  the  dangers  of 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  20^ 

the  poor  soldier.      Are  there  many  married  officers  of  the  — th, 
Captain  Dobbin  r' 

"  Upon  my  word,  she's  playing  her  hand  rather  too  openly," 
Miss  Wirt  thought ;  but  this  observation  is  merely  parenthetic,  and 
was  not  heard  through  the  crevice  of  the  door  at  which  the  governess 
uttered  it. 

"  One  of  our  young  men  is  just  married,"  Dobbin  said,  now 
coming  to  the  point.  "  It  was  a  very  old  attachment,  and  the 
young  couple  are  as  poor  as  church  mice." 

"  Oh,  how  dehghtful !  Oh,  how  romantic  ! "  Miss  Osborne  cried, 
as  the  Captain  said  "  old  attachment "  and  "  poor."  Her  sympathy 
encouraged  him. 

"  The  finest  young  fellow  in  the  regiment,"  he  continued.  "  Not 
a  braver  or  handsomer  officer  in  the  army ;  and  such  a  charming 
wife  !  How  you  would  like  her !  how  you  will  like  her  when  you 
know  her,  Miss  Osborne."  The  young  lady  thought  the  actual 
moment  had  arrived,  and  that  Dobbin's  nervousness  which  now 
came  on  and  was  visible  in  many  twitchings  of  his  face,  in  his 
manner  of  beating  the  ground  with  his  great  feet,  in  the  rapid 
buttoning  and  unbuttoning  of  his  frockcoat,  &c. — Miss  Osborne,  I 
say,  thought  that  when  he  had  given  himself  a  little  air,  he  would 
unbosom  himself  entirely,  and  prepared  eagerly  to  listen.  And  the 
clock,  in  the  altar  on  which  Iphigenia  was  situated,  beginning,  after 
a  preparatory  convulsion,  to  toll  twelve,  the  mere  tolling  seemed  as 
if  it  would  last  until  one — so  prolonged  was  the  knell  to  the  anxious 
spinster. 

"  But  it's  not  about  marriage  that  I  came  to  speak — that  is  that 
marriage — that  is — no,  I  mean — my  dear  Miss  Osborne,  it's  about 
our  dear  friend  George,"  Dobbin  said. 

"  About  George  1 "  she  said  in  a  tone  so  discomfited  that  Maria 
and  Miss  Wirt  laughed  at  the  other  side  of  the  door,  and  even  that 
abandoned  wretch  of  a  Dobbin  felt  inclined  to  smile  himself;  for  he 
was  not  altogether  unconscious  of  the  state  of  affairs  :  George  having^ 
often  bantered  him  gracefully  and  said,  "  Hang  it,  Will,  why  don't 
you  take  old  Jane  1  She'll  have  you  if  you  ask  her.  I'll  bet  you 
five  to  two  she  will." 

"  Yes,  about  George,  then,"  he  continued.  "  There  has  been  a 
difference  between  him  and  Mr.  Osborne.  And  I  regard  him  so 
much — for  you  know  we  have  been  like  brothers — that  I  hope  and 
pray  the  quarrel  may  be  settled.  We  must  go  abroad,  Miss  Osborne. 
We  may  be  ordered  off  at  a  day's  warning.  Who  knows  what  may 
happen  in  the  campaign  ?  Don't  be  agitated,  dear  Miss  Osborne ; 
and  those  two  at  least  should  part  friends." 

"There  has  been  no  quarrel,  Captain  Dobbin,  except  a  little 


210  VANITY    FAIR 

usual  scene  with  papa,"  the  lady  said.  "  We  are  expecting  George 
back  daily.  What  papa  wanted  was  only  for  his  good.  He  has 
but  to  come  back,  and  I'm  sure  all  will  be  well ;  and  dear  Rhoda, 
who  went  away  from  here  in  sad  sad  anger,  I  know  will  forgive  him. 
Woman  forgives  but  too  readily.  Captain." 

"  Such  an  angel  as  you  I  am  sure  would,"  Mr.  Dobbin  said,  with 
atrocious  astuteness.  "  And  no  man  can  pardon  himself  for  giving  a 
woman  pain.     What  would  you  feel,  if  a  man  were  faithless  to  youl " 

"I  should  perish — I  should  throw  myself  out  of  window — I 
should  take  poison — I  should  pine  and  die.  I  know  I  should," 
Miss  cried,  who  had  nevertheless  gone  through  one  or  two  affairs  of 
the  heart  without  any  idea  of  suicide. 

"And  there  are  others,"  Dobbin  continued,  "as  true  and  as 
kind-hearted  as  yourself.  I'm  not  speaking  about  the  West  Indian 
heiress,  Miss  Osborne,  but  about  a  poor  girl  whom  George  once  loved, 
and  who  was  bred  from  her  childhood  to  think  of  nobody  but  him. 
I've  seen  her  in  her  poverty  uncomplaining,  broken-hearted,  without 
a  fault.  It  is  of  Miss  Sedley  I  speak.  Dear  Miss  Osborne,  can 
your  generous  heart  quarrel  with  your  brother  for  being  faithful  to 
her  ?  Could  his  own  conscience  ever  forgive  him  if  he  deserted  her  1 
Be  her  friend — she  always  loved  you — and — and  I  am  come  here 
charged  by  George  to  tell  you  that  he  holds  his  engagement  to  her 
as  the  most  sacred  duty  he  has ;  and  to  entreat  you^  at  least,  to  be 
on  his  side." 

When  any  strong  emotion  took  possession  of  Mr.  Dobbin,  and 
after  the  first  word  or  two  of  hesitation,  he  could  speak  with  perfect 
fluency,  and  it  was  evident  that  his  eloquence  on  this  occasion  made 
some  impression  upon  the  lady  whom  he  addressed. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "this  is — most  surprising — most  painful — 
most  extraordinary — what  will  papa  say  ? — that  George  should  fling 
away  such  a  superb  establishment  as  was  offered  to  him, — but  at 
any  rate  he  has  found  a  very  brave  champion  in  you.  Captain 
Dobbin.  It  is  of  no  use,  however,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause ; 
"  I  feel  for  poor  Miss  Sedley,  most  certainly — most  sincerely,  you 
know.  We  never  thought  the  match  a  good  one,  though  we  were 
always  very  kind  to  her  here — very.  But  papa  will  never  consent, 
I  am  sure.  And  a  well-brought-up  young  woman,  you  know — with 
a  well-regulated  mind,  must — George  must  give  her  up,  dear  Captain 
Dobbin,  indeed  he  must." 

"  Ought  a  man  to  give  up  the  woman  he  loved,  just  when  mis- 
fortune befell  her  ? "  Dobbin  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  Dear  Miss 
Osborne,  is  this  the  counsel  I  hear  from  you  ?  My  dear  young  lady  ! 
you  must  befriend  her.  He  can't  give  her  up.  He  must  not  give 
her  up.     Would  a  man  think  you,  give  you  up  if  you  were  poor  \ " 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  211 

This  adroit  question  touched  the  heart  of  Miss  Jane  Osborne 
not  a  little.  "  I  don't  know  whether  we  poor  girls  ought  to  believe 
what  you  men  say,  Captain,"  she  said.  "  There  is  that  in  woman's 
tenderness  which  induces  her  to  beHeve  too  easily.  I'm  afraid  you 
are  cniel,  cruel  deceivers," — and  Dobbin  certainly  thought  he  felt  a 
pressure  of  the  hand  which  Miss  Osborne  had  extended  to  him. 

He  dropped  it  in  some  alarm.  "  Deceivers  !  "  said  he.  "  No, 
dear  Miss  Osborne,  all  men  are  not;  your  brother  is  not;  George 
has  loved  Amelia  Sedley  ever  since  they  were  children ;  no  wealth 
would  make  him  marry  any  but  her.  Ought  he  to  forsake  her? 
Would  you  counsel  him  to  do  so  ? " 

What  could  Miss  Jane  say  to  such  a  question,  and  with  her  own 
^culiar  views  ?  She  could  not  answer  it,  so  she  parried  it  by  saying, 
"  Well,  if  you  are  not  a  deceiver,  at  least  you  are  very  romantic ; " 
and  Captain  William  let  this  observation  pass  without  challenge. 

At  length  when,  by  the  help  of  farther  polite  speeches,  he  deemed 
that  Miss  Osborne  was  sufficiently  prepared  to  receive  the  whole 
news,  he  poured  it  into  her  ear.  "  George  could  not  give  up  Amelia 
— George  was  married  to  her"— and  then  he  related  the  circum- 
stances of  the  marriage  as  we  know  them  already  :  how  the  poor  girl 
would  have  died  had  not  her  lover  kept  his  faith :  how  old  Sedley 
had  refused  all  consent  to  the  match,  and  a  licence  had  been  got : 
and  Jos  Sedley  had  come  from  Cheltenham  to  give  away  the  bride : 
how  they  had  gone  to  Brighton  in  Jos's  chariot-and-four  to  pass  the 
honeymoon :  and  how  George  counted  on  his  dear  kind  sisters  to 
befriend  him  with  their  father,  as  women — so  true  and  tender  as 
they  were — assuredly  would  do.  And  so,  asking  permission  (readily 
granted)  to  see  her  again,  and  rightly  conjecturing  that  the  news  he 
had  brought  would  be  told  in  the  next  five  minutes  to  the  other 
ladies,  Captain  Dobbin  made  his  bow  and  took  his  leave. 

He  was  scarcely  out  of  the  house,  when  Miss  Maria  and  Miss 
Wirt  rushed  in  to  Miss  Osborne,  and  the  whole  wonderful  secret  was 
imparted  to  them  by  that  lady.  To  do  them  justice,  neither  of  the 
sisters  was  very  much  displeased.  There  is  something  about  a  run-i 
away  match  with  which  few  ladies  can  be  seriously  angry,  and* 
Amelia  rather  rose  in  their  estimation,  from  the  spirit  which  she  had 
displayed  in  consenting  to  the  union.  As  they  debated  the  story, 
and  prattled  about  it,  and  wondered  what  papa  would  do  and  say, 
came  a  loud  knock,  as  of  an  avenging  thunder-clap,  at  the  door, 
which  made  these  conspirators  start.  It  must  be  papa,  they  thought. 
But  it  was  not  he.  It  was  only  Mr.  Frederick  Bullock,  who  had 
come  from  the  City  according  to  appointment,  to  conduct  the  ladies 
to  a  flower-show. 

This  gentleman,  as  may  be  ima^ned,  was  not  kept  long  in 


212  .  VANITY    FAIR 

ignorance  of  the  secret.  But  his  face,  when  he  heard  it,  showed  an 
amazement  which  was  very  different  to  that  look  of  sentimental 
wonder  which  the  countenances  of  the  sisters  wore.  Mr.  Bullock 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  and  a  junior  partner  of  a  wealthy  firm.  He 
knew  what  money  was,  and  the  value  of  it :  and  a  delightful  throb 
of  expectation  lighted  up  his  little  eyes,  and  caused  him  to  smile  on 
fhis  Maria,  as  he  thought  that  by  this  piece  of  folly  of  Mr.  George's 
she  might  be  worth  thirty  thousand  pounds  morfc  than  he  had  ever 
hoped  to  get  with  her. 

"  Gad  !  Jane,"  said  he,  surveying  even  the  elder  sister  with  some 
interest,  "Eels  will  be  sorry  he  cried  off.  You  may  be  a  fifty 
thousand  pounder  yet." 

The  sisters  had  never  thought  of  the  money  question  up  to  that 
moment,  but  Fred  Bullock  bantered  them  with  graceful  gaiety  about 
it  during  their  forenoon's  excursion ;  and  they  had  risen  not  a  little 
in  their  own  esteem  by  the  time  when,  the  morning  amusement  over, 
they  drove  back  to  dinner.  And  do  not  let  my  respected  reader 
exclaim  against  this  selfishness  as  unnatural.  It  was  but  this  present 
morning,  as  he  rode  on  the  omnibus  from  Richmond ;  while  it  changed 
horses,  this  present  chronicler,  being  on  the  roof,  marked  three  little 
children  playing  in  a  puddle  below,  very  dirty,  and  friendly,  and 
happy.  To  these  three  presently  came  another  little  one.  "Po^^y," 
says  she,  "  your  sister'' s  got  a  penny. ''^  At  which  the  children  got 
up  fi-om  the  puddle  instantly,  and  ran  off  to  pay  their  court  to  Peggy. 
And  as  the  omnibus  drove  off  I  saw  Peggy  with  the  infantine  pro- 
cession at  her  tail,  marching  with  great  dignity  towards  the  stall  of 
a  neighbouring  lollipop-woman. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 
IN  WHICH  MR.  OSBORNE  TAKES  DOWN  THE  FAMILY  BIBLE 

SO  having  prepared  the  sisters,  Dobbin  hastened  away  to  the  City 
to  perform  the  rest  and  more  diflScult  part  of  the  task  which 
he  had  undertaken.  The  idea  of  facing  old  Osborne  rendered 
him  not  a  little  nervous,  and  more  than  once  he  thought  of  leaving 
the  young  ladies  to  communicate  the  secret,  which,  as  he  was  aware, 
they  could  not  long  retain.  But  he  had  promised  to  report  to  George 
upon  the  manner  in  which  the  elder  Osborne  bore  the  intelligence ; 
so  going  into  the  City  to  the  paternal  counting-house  in  Thames 
Street,  he  despatched  thence  a  note  to  Mr.  Osborne  begging  for  a 
half-hour's  conversation  relative  to  the  affairs  of  his  son  George. 
Dobbin's  messenger  returned  from  Mr.  Osborne's  house  of  business, 
with  the  compliments  of  the  latter,  who  would  be  very  happy  to 
see  the  Captain  immediately,  and  away  accordingly  Dobbin  went  to 
confront  him. 

The  Captain,  with  a  half-guilty  secret  to  confess,  and  with  the 
prospect  of  a  painful  and  stormy  interview  before  him,  entered  Mr. 
Osborne's  offices  with  a  most  dismal  countenance  and  abashed  gait, 
and,  passing  through  the  outer  room  where  Mr.  Chopper  presided, 
was  greeted  by  that  functionary  from  his  desk  with  a  waggish  air 
which  farther  discomfited  him.  Mr.  Chopper  winked  and  nodded 
and  pointed  his  pen  towards  his  patron's  door,  and  said,  "  You'll  find 
the  governor  all  right,"  with  the  most  provoking  good-humour. 

Osborne  rose  too,  and  shook  him  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  said, 
"  How  do,  my  dear  boy  1 "  with  a  cordiality  that  made  poor  George's 
ambassador  feel  doubly  guilty.  His  hand  lay  as  if  dead  in  the  old 
gentleman's  grasp.  He  felt  that  he,  Dobbin,  was  more  or  less  the 
cause  of  all  that  had  happened.  It  Avas  he  had  brought  back  George 
to  Amelia :  it  was  he  had  applauded,  encouraged,  transacted  almost 
the  marriage  which  he  was  come  to  reveal  to  George's  father :  and 
the  latter  was  receiving  him  with  smiles  of  welcome ;  patting  him 
on  the  shoulder,  and  calling  him  "  Dobbin,  my  dear  boy."  The 
envoy  had  indeed  good  reason  to  hang  his  head. 

Osborne  fully  believed  that  Dobbin  had  come  to  announce  his 
son's  surrender.     Mr.  Chopper  and  his  principal  were  talking  over 


214  VANITY    FAIR 

the  matter  between  George  and  his  father,  at  the  very  moment 
when  Dobbin's  messenger  arrived.  Both  agreed  that  George  was 
sending  in  his  submission.  Both  had  been  expecting  it  for  some 
days — and  "  Lord  !  Chopper,  what  a  marriage  we'll  have  ! "  Mr. 
Osborne  said  to  his  clerk,  snapping  his  big  fingers,  and  jingling  all 
the  guineas  and  shillings  in  his  great  pockets  as  he  eyed  his  sub- 
ordinate with  a  look  of  triumph. 

"With  similar  operations  conducted  in  both  pockets,  and  a  know- 
ing jolly  air,  Osborne  from  his  chair  regarded  Dobbin  seated  blank 
and  silent  opposite  to  him.  "  What  a  bumpkin  he  is  for  a  Captain 
in  the  army,"  old  Osborne  thought.  "I  wonder  George  hasn't 
taught  him  better  manners." 

At  last  Dobbin  summoned  courage  to  begin.  "  Sir,"  said  he, 
"I've  brought  you  some  very  grave  news.  I  have  been  at  the 
Horse  Guards  this  morning,  and  there's  no  doubt  that  our  regiment 
will  be  ordered  abroad,  and  on  its  way  to  Belgium  before  the  week 
is  over.  And  you  know,  sir,  that  we  shan't  be  home  again  before 
a  tussle  which  may  be  fatal  to  many  of  us." 

Osborne  looked  grave.     "My  s ,  the  regiment  will  do  its 

duty,  sir,  I  dare  say,''  he  said. 

"  The  French  are  very  strong,  sir,"  Dobbin  went  on.  "  The 
Russians  and  Austrians  will  be  a  long  time  before  they  can  bring 
their  troops  down.  We  shall  have  the  first  of  the  fight,  sir ;  and 
depend  on  it  Boney  will  take  care  that  it  shall  be  a  hard  one." 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  Dobbin?"  his  interlocutor  said, 
uneasy  and  with  a  scowl.  "  I  suppose  no  Briton's  afraid  of  any 
d Frenchman,  hay?" 

"  I  only  mean,  that  before  we  go,  and  considering  the  great  and 
certain  risk  that  hangs  over  every  one  of  us — if  there  are  any  differ- 
ences between  you  and  George— it  would  be  as  well,  sir,  that-r-that 
you  should  shake  hands  :  wouldn't  it  1  Should  anything  happen  to 
him,  I  think  you  would  never  forgive  yourself  if  you  hadn't  parted 
in  charity." 
^  As  he  said  this,  poor  William  Dobbin  blushed  crimson,  and  felt 
and  owned  that  he  himself  was  a  traitor.  But  for  him,  perhaps, 
this  severance  need  never  have  taken  place.  Why  had  not  George's 
marriage  been  delayed?  What  call  was  there  to  press  it  on  so 
eagerly?  He  felt  that  George  Avould  have  parted  from  Amelia 
at  any  rate  without  a  mortal  pang.  Amelia,  too,  might  have  re- 
covered the  shock  of  losing  him.  It  was  his  counsel  had  brought 
about  this  marriage,  and  all  that  was  to  ensue  from  it.  And  why 
was  it  ?  Because  he  loved  her  so  much  that  he  could  not  bear  to 
see  Tier  unhappy  :  or  because  his  own  sufferings  of  suspense  were  so 
unendurable  that  he  was  ^lad  to  crush  them  at  once — as  we  hasten 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  215 

a  fimeral  after  a  death,  or,  when  a  separation  from  those  we  love 
is  imminent,  cannot  rest  imtil  the  parting  be  over. 

~"^T6u  are  a  good  fellow,  William,"  said  Mr.  Osborne  in  a 
softened  voice ;  "  and  me  and  George  shouldn't  part  in  anger,  that 
is  true.  Look  here.  I've  done  foirliim  as  much  as  any  father  ever 
did.  He's  had  three  times  as  much  money  from  me,  as  I  warrant 
your  father  ever  gave  you.  But  I  don't  brag  about  that.  How 
I've  toiled  for  him,  and  worked  and  employed  my  talents  and 
energy,  /  won't  say.  Ask  Chopper.  Ask  himself.  Ask  the  City 
of  London.  Well,  I  propose  to  him  such  a  marriage  as  any  noble- 
man in  the  land  might  be  proud  of — the  only  thing  in  life  I  ever 
asked  him — and  he  refuses  me.  Am  /  wrong  1  Is  the  quarrel  of 
my  making  ?  What  do  I  seek  but  his  good,  for  which  I've  been 
toiling  like  a  convict  ever  since  he  was  born  1  Nobody  can  say 
there's  anything  selfish  in  me.  Let  him  come  back.  I  say,  here's 
my  hand.  I  say,  forget  and  forgive.  As  for  marrying  now,  it's  out 
of  the  question.  Let  him  and  Miss  S.  make  it  up,  and  make  out 
the  marriage  afterwards,  when  he  comes  back  a  Colonel ;  for  he 

shall  be  a  Colonel,  by  G he  shall,  if  money  can  do  it.     I'm 

glad  you've  brought  him  round.  I  know  it's  you,  Dobbin.  You've 
took  him  out  of  many  a  scrape  before.  Let  him  come.  /  shan't 
be  hard.  Come  along,  and  dine  in  Russell  Square  to-day :  both  of 
you.  The  old  shop,  the  old  hour.  You'll  find  a  neck  of  venison, 
and  no  questions  asked." 

This  praise  and  confidence  smote  Dobbin's  heart  very  keenly. 
Every  moment  the  colloquy  continued  in  this  tone,  he  felt  more  and 
more  guilty.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  fear  you  deceive  yourself.  I  am 
sure  you  do.  George  is  much  too  high-minded  a  man  ever  to  marry 
for  money.  A  threat  on  your  part  that  you  would  disinherit  him  in 
case  of  disobedience  would  only  be  followed  by  resistance  on  his." 

"  Why,  hang  it,  man,  you  don't  call  offering  him  eight  or  ten 
thousand  a  year  threatening  him?"  Mr.  Osborne  said,  with  still 
provoking  good-humour.  "  'Gad,  if  Miss  S.  will  have  me,  I'm  her 
man.  /  ain't  partitnilar  about  a  shade  or  so  of  tawny."  And  the 
old  gentleman  gave  his  knowing  grin  and  coai-se  laugh. 

"You  forget,  sir,  previous  engagements  into  which  Captain 
Osborne  had  entered,"  the  ambassador  said  gravely. 

"What  engagements?  What  the  devil  do  you  mean?  You 
don't  mean,"  Mr.  Osborne  continued,  gathering  wrath  and  astonish- 
ment as  the  thought  now  first  came  upon  him ;  "  you  don't  mean 
that  he's  such  a  d fool  as  to  be  still  hankering  after  that  swind- 
ling old  bankrupt's  daughter?  You've  not  come  here  for  to  make 
me  suppose  that  he  wants  to  marry  her  ?  Marry  her,  that  is  a  good 
one.     My  son  and  heir  marry  a  beggar's  girl  out  of  a  gutter.     D 


2i6  VANITY    FAIR 

him,  if  he  does,  let  him  buy  a  broom  and  sweep  a  crossing.  She 
was  always  dangling  and  ogling  after  him,  I  recollect  now ;  and  I've 
no  doubt  she  was  put  on  by  her  old  sharper  of  a  father." 

"  Mr.  Sedley  was  your  very  good  friend,  sir,"  Dobbin  interposed, 
almost  pleased  at  finding  himself  growing  angry.  "  Time  was  you 
called  him  better  names  than  rogue  and  swindler.  The  match  was  of 
your  making.     George  had  no  right  to  play  fast  and  loose 

"  Fast  and  loose  ! "  howled  out  old  Osborne.  "  Fast  and  loose  ! 
Why,  hang  me,  those  are  the  very  words  my  gentleman  used  himself 
when  he  gave  himself  airs,  last  Thursday  was  a  fortnight,  and  talked 
about  the  British  army  to  his  father  who  made  him.  What,  it's  you 
who  have  been  a  setting  of  him  up — is  it  1  and  my  service  to  you. 
Captain.  It's  you  who  want  to  introduce  beggars  into  my  family. 
Thank  you  for  nothing.  Captain.  Marry  her  indeed — he,  he  !  why 
should  he  ?     I  warrant  you  she'd  go  to  him  fast  enough  without." 

" Sir,"  said  Dobbin,  starting  up  in  undisguised  anger ;  "no  man 
shall  abuse  that  lady  in  my  hearing,  and  you  least  of  all." 

"  Oh,  you're  a  going  to  call  me  out,  are  you  1  Stop,  let  me  ring 
the  beU  for  pistols  for  two.  Mr.  George  sent  you  here  to  insult  his 
father,  did  he  1    Osborne  said,  pulling  at  the  bell-cord. 

"Mr.  Osborne,"  said  Dobbin,  with  a  faltering  voice,  "it's  you 
who  are  insulting  the  best  creature  in  the  world.  You  had  best 
spare  her,  sir,  for  she's  your  son's  wife." 

And  with  this,  feeling  that  he  could  say  no  more,  Dobbin  went 
away,  Osborne  sinking  back  in  his  chair,  and  looking  wildly  after  him. 
A  clerk  came  in,  obedient  to  the  bell ;  and  the  Captain  was  scarcely 
out  of  the  court  where  Mr.  Osborne's  offices  were,  when  Mr.  Chopper 
the  chief  clerk  came  rushing  hatless  after  him. 

"  For  God's  sake,  what  is  it  1 "  Mr.  Chopper  said,  catching  the 
Captain  by  the  skirt.  "  The  governor's  in  a  fit.  What  has  Mr. 
George  been  doing  1 " 

"  He  married  Miss  Sedley  five  days  ago,"  Dobbin  replied.  "  I 
was  his  groomsman,  Mr.  Chopper,  and  you  must  stand  his  friend." 

The  old  clerk  shook  his  head.  "  If  that's  your  news.  Captain, 
it's  bad.     The  governor  will  never  forgive  him." 

Dobbin  begged  Chopper  to  report  progress  to  him  at  the  hotel 
where  he  was  stopping,  and  walked  off  moodily  westwards,  greatly 
perturbed  as  to  the  past  and  the  future. 

When  the  Russell  Square  family  came  to  dinner  that  evening,  they 
found  the  father  of  the  house  seated  in  his  usual  place,  but  with  that 
air  of  gloom  on  his  face,  which,  whenever  it  appeared  there,  kept  the 
whole  circle  silent.  The  ladies,  and  Mr.  Bullock  who  dined  with  thena, 
felt  that  the  news  had  been  communicated  to  Mr.  Osborne.  His 
dark  looks  affected  Mr.  Bullock  so  far  as  to  render  him  still  and  quiet: 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  217 

but  he  was  unusually  bland  and  attentive  to  Miss  Maria,  by  whom 
he  sat,  and  to  her  sistei*  presiding  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Miss  Wirt,  by  consequence,  was  alone  on  her  side  of  the  board,  a 
gap  being  left  between  her  and  Miss  Jane  Osborne.  Now  this  was 
George's  place  when  he  dined  at  hopie ;  and  his  cover,  as  we  said,  was 
laid  for  him  in  expectation  of  that  truant's  return.  Nothing  occurred 
during  dinner-time  except  smiling  Mr.  Frederick's  flagging  confidential 
whispers,  and  the  clinking  of  plate  and  china,  to  interrupt  the  silence 
of  the  repast.  The  servants  went  about  stealthily  doing  their  duty. 
Mutes  at  funerals  could  not  look  more  glum  than  the  domestics  of 
Mr.  Osborne.  The  neck  of  venison  of  which  he  had  invited  Dobbin 
to  partake,  was  carved  by  him  in  perfect  silence ;  but  his  own  share 
went  away  almost  untasted,  though  he  drank  much,  and  the  butler 
assiduously  filled  his  glass. 

At  last,  just  at  the  end  of  the  dinner,  his  eyes,  which  had  been 
staring  at  everybody  in  turn,  fixed  themselves  for  a  while  upon  the 
plate  laid  for  George.  He  pointed  to  it  presently  with  his  left  hand. 
His  daughters  looked  at  him  and  did  not  comprehend,  or  choose  to 
comprehend,  the  signal ;  nor  did  the  servants  at  first  understand  it. 

"  Take  that  plate  away,"  at  last  he  said,  getting  up  with  an  oath 
— and  with  this  pushing  his  chair  back,  he  walked  into  his  own  room. 

Behind  Mr.  Osborne's  dining-room  was  the  usual  apartment  which 
went  in  his  house  by  the  name  of  the  study ;  and  was  sacred  to  the 
master  of  the  house.  Hither  Mr.  Osborne  would  retire  of  a  Sunday 
forenoon  when  not  minded  to  go  to  church ;  and  here  pass  the  morning 
in  his  crimson  leather  chair,  reading  the  paper.  A  oouple  of  glazed 
book-cases  were  here,  containing  standard  works  in  stout  gilt  bind- 
ings. The  "  Annual  Register,"  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  "  Blair's 
Sermons,"  and  "  Hume  and  Smollett."  From  year's  end  to  year's 
end  he  never  took  one  of  these  volumes  fi-om  the  shelf;  but  there  was 
no  member  of  the  family  that  would  dare  for  his  life  to  touch  one  of 
the  books,  except  upon  those  rare  Sunday  evenings  when  there  was 
no  dinner-party,  and  when  the  great  scarlet  Bible  and  Prayer-book 
were  taken  out  fi*om  the  corner  where  they  stood  beside  his  copy  of 
the  Peerage,  and  the  servants  being  rung  up  to  the  dining  parlour, 
Osborne  read  the  evening  service  to  his  family  in  a  loud  grating 
pompous  voice.  No  member  of  the  household,  child,  or  domestic, 
ever  entered  that  room  without  a  certain  terror.  Here  he  checked 
the  housekeeper's  accounts,  and  overhauled  the  butler's  cellar-book. 
Hence  he  could  command,  across  the  clean  gravel  court-yard,  the  back 
entrance  of  the  stables  with  which  one  of  his  bells  communicated,  and 
into  this  yard  the  coachman  issued  from  his  premises  as  into  a  dock, 
and  Osborne  swore  at  him  from  the  study  window.  Four  times  a  year 
Miss  Wirt  entered  this  apartment  to  get  her  salary ;  and  his  daughters 


2i8  VANITY    FAIR 

to  receive  tlieir  quarterly  allowance.  George  as  a  boy  had  been  horse- 
whipped in  this  room  many  times  ;  his  mother  sitting  sick  on  the  stair 
listening  to  the  cuts  of  the  whip.  The  boy  was  scarcely  ever  known 
to  cry  under  the  punishment ;  the  poor  woman  used  to  fondle  and  kiss 
him  secretly,  and  give  him  money  to  soothe  him  when  he  came  out. 

There  was  a  picture  of  the  family  over  the  mantelpiece,  removed 
thither  from  the  front  room  after  Mrs.  Osborne's  death — George  was 
on  a  pony,  the  elder  sister  holding  him  up  a  bunch  of  flowers ;  the 
younger  led  by  her  mother's  hand ;  all  with  red  cheeks  and  large  red 
mouths,  simpering  on  each  other  in  the  approved  family-portrait 
manner.  The  mother  lay  undergi'ound  now,  long  since  forgotten — 
the  sisters  and  brother  had  a  hundred  different  interests  of  their  own, 
and,  familiar  still,  were  utterly  estranged  from  each  other.  Some  few 
score  of  years  afterwards,  when  all  the  parties  represented  are  grown 
old,  what  bitter  satire  ^ere  is  in  those  flaunting  childish  family- 
portraits,  with  their  farce  of  sentiment  and  smiling  lies)  and  innocence 
so  self-conscious  and  Self-satisfied.  Osborne's  own  state  portrait,  with 
that  of  his  great  silver  inkstand  and  arm-chair,  had  taken  the  phwe 
of  honour  in  the  dining-room,  vacated  by  the  family-piece. 

To  this  study  old  Osborne  retired  then,  greatly  to  the  relief  of 
the  small  party  whom  he  left.  When  the  servants  had  withdrawn, 
they  began  to  talk  for  a  while  volubly  but  very  low ;  then  they  went 
upstairs  quietly,  Mr.  Bullock  accompanying  them  stealthily  on  his 
creaking  shoes.  He  had  no  heart  to  sit  alone  drinking  wine,  and  so 
close  to  the  terrible  old  gentleman  in  the  study  hard  at  hand. 

An  hour  at  least  after  dark,  the  butler,  not  having  received  any 
summons,  ventured  to  tap  at  his  door  and  take  him  in  wax  candles 
and  tea.  The  master  of  the  house  sate  in  his  chair,  pretending  to 
read  the  paper,  and  when  the  servant,  placing  the  lights  and  refresh- 
ment on  the  table  by  him,  retired,  Mr.  Osborne  got  up  and  locked 
the  door  after  him.  This  time  there  was  no  mistaking  the  matter ; 
all  the  household  knew  that  some  great  catastrophe  was  going  to 
happen  which  was  likely  direly  to  affect  Master  George. 

In  the  large  shining  mahogany  escritoire  Mr.  Osborne  had  a 
drawer  especially  devoted  to  his  son's  affairs  and  papers.  Here  he 
kept  all  the  documents  relating  to  him  ever  since  he  had  been  a  boy : 
here  were  his  prize  copy-books  and  drawing-books,  all  bearing  George's 
hand,  and  that  of  the  master :  here  were  his  first  letters  in  large 
roimd-hand  sending  his  love  to  papa  and  mamma,  and  conveying 
his  petitions  for  a  cake.  His  dear  godpapa  Sedley  was  more  than 
once  mentioned  in  them.  Curses  quivered  on  old  Osborne's  livid 
lips,  and  horrid  hatred  and  disappointment  writhed  in  his  heart,  as 
looking  through  some  of  these  papers  he  came  on  that  name.  They 
were  all  marked  and  docketed,  and  tied  with  red  tape.     It  was — 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  219 

"  From  Georgy,  requesting  5s.,  April  23, 18 —  ;  answered,  April  25," 
— or  *'  Georgy  about  a  pony,  October  13," — and  so  forth.  In  another 
packet  were  "Dr.  S.'s  accounts" — "G.'s  tailor's  bills  and  outfits, 
drafts  on  me  by  G.  Osborne,  jun.,"  &c., — his  letters  from  the  West 
Indies — his  agent's  letters,  and  tne  newspapers  containing  his  com- 
missions :  here  was  a  whip  he  had  when  a  boy,  and  in  a  paper  a 
locket  containing  his  hair,  which  his  mother  used  to  wear. 

Turning  one  over  after  another,  and  musing  over  these  memorials, 
the  unhappy  man  passed  many  hours.  ."Ffis  deareRt  jvanities.,  amXiL 
tious  hopes,  had  all  been  here.  What  pride  he  had  in  his  i)()y  !  He 
was  the  handsomest  child  ever  seen.  Everybody  said  lie  was  like  a 
nobleman's  son.  A  royal  princess  had  remarked  him,  and  kissed 
him,  and  asked  his  name  in  Kew  Gardens.  What  City  man  could 
show  such  another?  Could  a  prince  have  been  better  cared  for? 
Anything  that  money  could  buy  had  been  his  son's.  He  used  to  go 
down  on  speech-days  with  four  horses  and  new  liveries,  and  scatter 
new  shillings  among  the  boys  at  the  school  where  George  was  :  when 
he  went  with  George  to  the  depot  of  his  regiment,  before  the  boy 
v^jmbarked  for  Canada,  he  gave  the  officers  such  a  dinner  as  the  Duke 
oif  York  might  have  sat  down  to.  Had  he  ever  refused  a  bill  when 
George  drew  one  ?  There  they  were — paid  without  a  word.  Many 
a  general  in  the  army  couldn't  ride  the  horses  he  had  !  He  had  the 
child  before  liis  eyes,  on  a  hundred  different  days  when  he  remem- 
bered George — after  dinner,  when  he  used  to  come  in  as  bold  as  a 
lord  and  drink  otf  his  glass  by  his  father's  side,  at  the  head  of  the 
table-^pn  the  pony  at  Brighton,  when  he  cleared  the  hedge  and 
kept  up  with  the  huntsman — on  the  day  when  he  was  presented 
to  the  Prince  Regent  at  the  levee,  when  all  Saint  James's  couldn't 
produce  a  finer  young  fellow.  And  this,  this  was  the  end  of  all ! — 
to  marry  a  bankrupt  and  fly  in  the  face  of  duty  and  fortune  !  What 
humiliation  and  fiiry  :  what  pangs  of  sickening  rage,  balked  ambition 
and  love ;  what  wounds  of  outraged  vanity,  tenderness  even,  had 
this  old  worldling  now  to  suffer  under  ! 

Having  examined  these  papers,  and  pondered  over  this  one  and 
the  other,  in  that  bitterest  of  all  helpless  woe,  with  which  miserable 
men  think  of  happy  past  times — George's  father  took  the  whole  of 
the  documents  out  of  the  drawer  in  which  he  had  kept  them  so  long, 
and  locked  them  into  a  writing-box,  which  he  tied,  and  sealed  with 
his  seal.  Then  he  opened  the  book-case,  and  took  down  the  great  red 
Bible  we  have  spoken  of— a  pompous  book,  seldom  looked  at,  and 
shining  all  over  with  gold.  There  was  a  frontispiece  to  the  volume, 
representing  Abraham  sacrificing  Isaac.  Here,  according  to  custom, 
Osborne  had  recorded  on  the  fly-leaf,  and  in  his  large  clerk-like  hand, 
the  dates  of  his  marriage  and  his  wife's  death,  and  the  births  and 
18 


220  VANITY    FAIR 

Christian  names  of  his  children.  Jane  came  first,  then  George  Sedley 
Osborne,  then  Maria  Frances,  and  the  days  of  the  christening  of  each. 
Taking  a  pen,  he  carefully  obliterated  George's  names  from  the  page ; 
and  when  the  leaf  was  quite  dry,  restored  the  volume  to  the  place 
from  which  he  had  moved  it.  Then  he  took  a  document  out  of 
another  drawer,  where  his  own  private  papers  were  kept;  and  having 
read  it,  crumpled  it  up  and  lighted  it  at  one  of  the  candles,  and  saw 
it  bum  entirely  away  in  the  grate.  It  was  his  will ;  which  being 
burned,  he  sate  down  and  wrote  off  a  letter,  and  rang  for  his  servant, 
whom  he  charged  to  deliver  it  in  the  morning.  It  was  morning 
already :  as  he  went  up  to  bed,  the  whole  house  was  alight  with  the 
sunshine ;  and  the  birds  were  singing  among  the  fresh  green  leaves 
in  Russell  Square. 

Anxious  to  keep  all  Mr.  Osborne's  family  and  dependants  in 
good-humour,  and  to  make  as  many  friends  as  possible  for  George  in 
his  hour  of  adversity,  William  Dobbin,  who  knew  the  effect  which 
good  dinners  and  good  wines  have  upon  the  soul  of  man,  wrote  off 
immediately  on  his  return  to  his  inn  the  most  hospitable  of  invita- 
tions to  Thomas  Chopper,  Esquire,  begging  that  gentleman  to  dine 
with  him  at  the  Slaughters'  next  day.  The  note  reached  Mr. 
Chopper  before  he  left  the  City,  and  the  instant  reply  was,  that 
"  Mr.  Chopper  presents  his  respectful  compliments,  and  will  have 
the  honour  and  pleasure  of  waiting  on  Captain  D."  The  invitation 
and  the  rough  draft  of  the  answer  were  shown  to  Mrs.  Chopper  and 
her  daughters  on  his  return  to  Somers  Town  that  evening,  and  they 
talked  about  military  gents  and  West  End  men  with  great  exultation 
as  the  family  sate  and  partook  of  tea.  When  the  girls  had  gone  to 
rest,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  discoursed  upon  the  strange  events  which  were 
occurring  in  the  governor's  family.  Never  had  the  clerk  teen  his 
principal  so  moved.  When  he  went  in  to  Mr.  Osborne,  after  Captain 
Dobbin's  departure,  Mr.  Chopper  found  his  chief  black  in  the  face, 
and  all  but  in  a  fit :  some  dreadfiil  quarrel,  he  was  certain,  had 
occurred  between  Mr.  0.  and  the  young  Captain.  Chopper  had 
been  instructed  to  make  out  an  account  of  all  sums  paid  to  Captain 
Osborne  within  the  last  three  years.  "  And  a  precious  lot  of  money 
he  has  had  too,"  the  chief  clerk  said,  and  respected  his  old  and 
young  master  the  more,  for  the  liberal  way  in  which  the  guineas 
had  been  flung  about.  The  dispute  was  something  about  Miss 
Sedley.  Mrs.  Chopper  vowed  and  declared  she  pitied  that  poor 
young  lady  to  lose  such  a  handsome  young  fellow  as  the  Capting. 
As  the  daughter  of  an  unlucky  speculator,  who  had  paid  a  very 
shabby  dividend,  Mr.  Chopper  had  no  great  regard  for  Miss  Sedley. 
He  respected  the  house  of  Osborne  before  all  others  in  the  City  of 
London  :  and  his  hope  and  wish  was  that  Captain  George  should 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  221 

many  a  nobleman's  daughter.  .Ilie-^5lerk-slept_a  great  deal  sounder 
than  liis  principal  that  night ;  and,  cuddling  his  children  after  break- 
fast mI  which  lie  partook  with  a  very  hearty  appetite,  though  his 
niodt  St  cup  of  life  was  only  sweetened  with  brown  sugar),  he  set 
oft"  in  liis  best  Sunday  suit  and  frflled  shirt  for  business,  promising 
his  admiring  wife  not  to  punish  Captain  D.'s  port  too  severely 
that  evening. 

Mr.  Osborne's  countenance,  when  he  arrived  in  the  City  at  his 
upual  time,  struck  those  dependants  who  were  accustomed,  for  good 
reasons,  to  watch  its  expression,  as  peculiarly  ghastly  and  worn.  At 
twelve  o'clock  Mr.  Higgs  (of  the  firm  of  Higgs  &  Blatherwick 
solicitors,  Bedford  Row)  called  by  appointment,  and  was  ushered 
into  the  governor's  private  room,  and  closeted  there  for  more  than 
an  hour.  At  about  one  Mr.  Chopper  received  a  note  brought  by 
Captain  Dobbin's  man,  and  containing  an  enclosure  for  Mr.  Osborne, 
which  the  clerk  went  in  and  delivered.  A  short  time  afterwards 
Mr.  Chopper  and  Mr.  Birch,  the  next  clerk,  were  summoned,  and 
requested  to  witness  a  paper.  "  I've  been  making  a  new  will,"  Mr. 
Osborne  said,  to  which  these  .gentlemen  appended  their  names 
accordingly.  No  conversation  passed.  Mr.  Higgs  looked  exceed- 
ingly grave  as  he  came  into  the  outer  rooms,  and  very  hard  in  Mr. 
Chopper's  face;  but  there  were  not  any  explanations.  It  was 
remarked  that  Mr.  Osborne  was  particularly  quiet  and  gentle  all 
day,  to  the  surprise  of  those  who  had  augured  ill  from  his  darkling 
demeanour.  He  called  no  man  names  that  day,  and  was  not  heard 
to  swear  once.  He  left  business  early ;  and  before  going  away, 
summoned  his  chief  clerk  once  more,  and  having  given  him  general 
instructions,  asked  him,  after  some  seeming  hesitation  and  reluctance 
to  speak,  if  he  knew  whether  Captain  Dobbin  was  in  town  ? 

Chopper  said  he  believed  he  was.  Indeed  both  of  them  knew 
the  fact  pej:fefetlyf 

Osborne  took  a  letter  directed  to  that  officer,  and  giving  it  to 
the  clerk,  requested  the  latter  to  deliver  it  into  Dobbin's  own  hands 
immediately. 

"  And  now.  Chopper,"  says  he,  taking  his  hat,  and  with  a  strange 
look,  "  my  mind  will  be  easy."  Exactly  as  the  clock  struck  two  (there 
was  no  doubt  an  appointment  between  the  pair),  Mr.  Frederick 
Bullock  called,  and  he  and  Mr.  Osborne  walked  away  together. 

The  Colonel  of  the  — th  regiment,  in  which  Messieurs  Dobbin 
and  Osborne  had  companies,  was  an  old  General  who  had  made  his 
first  campaign  imder  Wolfe  at  Quebec,  and  was  long  since  quite  too 
old  and  feeble  for  command ;  but  he  took  some  interest  in  the 
regiment  of  which  he  was  the  nominal  head,  and  made  certain  of 


222  VANITY    FAIR 

his  yoimg  officers  welcome  at  his  table,  a  kind  of  hospitality  which 
|I  believe  is  not  now  common  amongst  his  brethren.  Captain  Dobbin 
was  an  especial  favourite  of  this  old  General.  Dobbin  was  versed 
in  the  literature  of  his  profession,  and  could  talk  about  the  great 
Frederick,  and  the  Empress  Queen,  and  their  wars,  almost  as  well 
as  the  General  himself,  who  was  indifferent  to  the  triumphs  of  the 
present  day,  and  whose  heart  was  with  the  tacticians  of  fifty  years 
back.  This  officer  sent  a  summons  to  Dobbin  to  come  and  break- 
fast with  him,  on  the  morning  when  Mr.  Osborne  altered  his  will 
and  Mr.  Chopper  put  on  his  best  shirt-frill,  and  then  informed  his 
young  favourite,  a  couple  of  days  in  advance,  of  that  which  they 
were  all  expecting — a  marching  order  to  go  to  Belgium.  The  order 
for  the  regiment  to  hold  itself  in  readiness  would  leave  the  Horse 
Guards  in  a  day  or  two;  and  as  transports  were  in  plenty,  they 
would  get  their  route  before  the  week  was  over.  Recruits  had  come 
in  during  the  stay  of  the  regiment  at  Chatham ;  and  the  old  Genep.d 
hoped  that  the  regiment  which  had  helped  to  beat  Montcalm  in 
Canada,  and  to  rout  Mr.  Washington  on  Long  Island,  would  prove 
itself  worthy  of  its  historical  reputation  on  the  oft-trodden  battle- 
gromids  of  the  Low  Countries.  "  And  so,  my  good  friend,  if  you 
have  any  affaire  la,''^  said  the  old  General,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff 
with  his  trembling  white  old  hand,  and  then  pointing  to  the  spot 
of  his  rohe  de  chambre  under  which  his  heart  was  still  feebly  beat- 
ing, "  if  you  have  any  Phillis  to  console,  or  to  bid  farewell  to  y)a[)a 
and  mamma,  or  any  will  to  make,  I  recommend  you  to  set  about 
your  business  without  delay."  With  which  the  General  gave  his 
young  friend  a  finger  to  shake,  and  a  good-natured  nod  of  his  powdered 
and  pig-tailed  head ;  and  the  door  being  closed  upon  Dobbin,  sate 
down  to  pen  a  j^oulet  (he  was  exceedingly  vain  of  his  French)  to 
Mademoiselle  Am^naide  of  His  Majesty's  Theatre. 

This  news  made  Dobbin  grave,  and  he  thought  of  our  friends  at 
Brighton,  and  then  he  was  ashamed  of  himself  that  Amelia  was 
always  the  first  thing  in  his  thoughts  (always  before  anybody — 
before  father  and  mother,  sisters  and  duty — always  at  waking  and 
sleeping  indeed,  and  all  day  long) ;  and  returning  to  his  hotel,  he 
sent  off  a  brief  note  to  Mr.  Osborne  acquainting  him  with  the  in- 
formation which  he  had  received,  and  which  might  tend  farther,  he 
hoped,  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  with  George. 

This  note,  despatched  by  the  same  messenger  who  had  carried 
the  invitation  to  Chopper  on  the  previous  day,  alarmed  the  worthy 
clerk  not  a  little.  It  was  enclosed  to  him,  and  as  he  opened  the 
letter  he  trembled  lest  the  dinner  should  be  put  off  on  which  he 
was  calculating.  His  mind  was  inexpressibly  relieved  when  he 
found  that  the  envelope  was  only  a  reminder  for  himself.     ("I  shall 


A   NOVE-L    WITHOUT    A    HERO  223 

expect  you  at  half-past  five,"  Captain  Dobbin  wrote.)  He  was  very 
much  interested  about  his  employer's  family  ;  but,  que  voulez-vous  ? 
a  grand  dinner  was  of  more  concern  to  him  than  the  affairs  of  any 
other  mortal. 

Dobbin  was  quite  justified  in  repeating  the  General's  information 
to  any  officers  of  the  regiment  whom  he  shoidd  see  in  the  course  of 
his  peregrinations;  accordingly  he  imparted  it  to  Ensign  Stubble, 
whom  he  met  at  the  agent's,  and  who — such  was  his  military  ardour 
— went  oft'  instantly  to  purchase  a  new  sword  at  the  accoutrement- 
maker's.  Here  this  young  fellow,  who,  though  only  seventeen  years 
of  age,  and  about  sixty-five  inches  high,  with  a  constitution  naturally 
rickety  and  much  impaired  by  premature  brandy-and-water,  had  an 
undoubted  courage  and  a  lion's  heart,  poised,  tried,  bent,  and  balanced 
a  weapon  such  as  he  thought  would  do  execution  amongst  Frenchmen. 
Shouting  "  Ha,  ha ! "  and  stamping  his  little  feet  with  tremendous 
energy,  he  delivered  the  point  twice  or  thrice  at  Captain  Dobbin,  who 
parried  the  thrust  laughingly  with  his  bamboo  walking-stick. 

Mr.  Stubble,  as  may  be  supposed  fi'om  his  size  and  slendemess, 
was  of  the  Light  Bobs.  Ensign  Spooney,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  tall 
youth,  and  belonged  to  (Captain  Dobbin's)  the  Grenadier  Company, 
and  he  tried  on  a  new  bear-skin  cap,  under  which  he  looked  savage 
beyond  his  years.  Then  these  two  lads  went  off  to  the  Slaughters', 
and  having  ordered  a  famous  dinner,  sate  down  and  wrote  off  letters 
to  the  kind  anxious  parents  at  home — letters  fiiU  of  love  and  hearti- 
ness, and  pluck  and  bad  spelling.  Ah  !  there  were  many  anxious 
hearts  beating  through  England  at  that  time ;  and  mothers'  prayers 
and  tears  flowing  in  many  homesteads. 

Seeing  young  Stubble  engaged  in  composition  at  one  of  the 
coft'ee-room  tables  at  the  Slaughters',  and  the  tears  trickling  down  his 
nose  on  to  the  paper  (for  the  youngster  was  thinking  of  his  mamma, 
and  that  he  might  never  see  her  again),  Dobbin,  who  was  going  to 
write  off  a  letter  to  Oeorge  Osborne,  relented,  and  locked  up  his  desk. 
"  Why  should  I  ? "  said  he.  "  Let  her  have  this  night  happy.  I'll 
go  and  see  my  parents  early  in  the  morning,  and  go  down  to  Brighton 
myself  to-morrow." 

So  he  went  up  and  laid  his  big  hand  on  young  Stubble's  shoulder, 
and  backed  up  that  young  champion,  and  told  him  if  he  would  leave 
oft"  brandy-and-water  he  would  be  a  good  soldier,  as  he  always  was  a 
gentlemanly  good-hearted  fellow.  Young  Stubble's  eyes  brightened 
up  at  this,  for  Dobbin  was  gi'eatly  respected  in  the  regiment,  as  the 
best  officer  and  the  cleverest  man  in  it. 

"Thank  you,  Dobbin,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his 
knuckles,  "  I  was  just — just  teUing  her  I  would.  And,  0  Sir,  she's 
so  dam  kind  to  me."     The  water  pumps  were  at  work  again,  and 


«24  VANITY    FAIR 

I  am  not  sure  that  the  soft-hearted  Captain's  eyes  did  not  also 
twinkle. 

The  two  ensigns,  the  Captain,  and  Mr.  Chopper,  dined  together 
in  the  same  box.  Chopper  brought  the  letter  from  Mr.  Osborne,  in 
which  the  latter  briefly  presented  his  compliments  to  Captain  Dobbin, 
and  requested  him  to  forward  the  enclosed  to  Captain  George  Osborne. 
Chopper  knew  nothing  further ;  he  described  Mr.  Osborne's  appear- 
ance, it  is  true,  and  his  interview  with  his  lawyer,  wondered  how  the 
governor  had  sworn  at  nobody,  and — especially  as  the  wine  circled 
round — abounded  in  speculations  and  conjectures.  But  these  grew 
more  vague  with  every  glass,  and  at  length  became  perfectly  unin- 
telligible. At  a  late  hour  Captain  Dobbin  put  his  guest  into  a 
hackney-coach,  in  a  hiccupping  state,  and  swearing  that  he  would  be 
the  kick — the  kick — Captain's  friend  for  ever  and  ever. 

When  Captain  Dobbin  took  leave  of  Miss  Osborne  we  have  said 
that  he  asked  leave  to  come  and  pay  her  another  visit,  and  the  spinster 
expected  him  for  some  hours  the  next  day,  when,  perhaps,  had  he 
come,  and  had  he  asked  her  that  question  which  she  was  prepared  to 
answer,  she  would  have  declared  herself  as  her  brother's  friend,  and 
a  reconciliation  might  have  been  effected  between  George  and  his 
angry  father.  But  though  she  waited  at  home  the  Captain  never 
came.  He  had  his  own  affairs  to  pursue ;  his  own  parents  to  visit 
and  console ;  and  at  an  early  hour  of  the  day  to  take  his  place  on 
the  Lightning  coach  and  go  down  to  his  friends  at  Brighton.  In 
the  course  of  the  day  Miss  Osborne  heard  her  father  give  orders  that 
that  meddling  scoundrel.  Captain  Dobbin,  should  never  be  admitted 
within  his  doors  again,  and  any  hopes  in  which  she  may  have  indulged 
privately  were  thus  abruptly  brought  to  an  end.  Mr.  Frederick 
Bullock  came,  and  was  particularly  affectionate  to  Maria,  and  atten- 
tive to  the  broken-spirited  old  gentleman.  For  though  he  said  his 
mind  would  be  easy,  the  means  which  he  had  taken  to  secure  quiet 
did  not  seem  to  have  succeeded  as  yet,  and  the  events  of  the  past 
two  days  had  visibly  shattered  him, 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IN  WHICH  ALL  THE  PRINCIPAL  PERSONAGES  THINK  FIT 
To  LEAVE  BRIGHTON 

CONDUCTED  to  the  ladies,  at  the  Ship  Inn,  Dobbin  assumed 
a  jovial  and  rattling  manner,  which  proved  that  this  young 
officer  was  becoming  a  more  consummate  hypocrite  every 
day  of  his  life.  He  was  trying  to  hide  his  own  private  feelings, 
first  upon  seeing  Mrs.  George  Osborne  in  her  new  condition,  and 
secondly  to  mask  the  apprehensions  he  entertained  as  to  the  effect 
which  the  dismal  news  brought  down  by  him  would  certainly  have 
upon  her. 

"  It  is  my  opinion,  George,"  he  said,  "  that  the  French  Emperor 
will  be  upon  us,  horse  and  foot,  before  three  weeks  are  over,  and  will 
give  the  Duke  such  a  dance  as  shall  make  the  Peninsula  appear  mere 
child's  play.  But  you  need  not  say  that  to  Mrs.  Osborne,  you  know. 
There  mayn't  be  any  fighting  on  our  side  after  all,  and  our  business 
in  Belgium  may  turn  out  to  be  a  mere  military  occupation.  Many 
persons  think  so;  and  Brussels  is  fiiU  of  fine  people  and  ladies  of 
fashion."  So  it  was  agreed  to  represent  the  duty  of  the  British  army 
in  Belgium  in  this  harmless  light  to  Amelia. 

This  plot  being  arranged,  the  hypocritical  Dobbin  saluted  Mrs. 
George  Osborne  quite  gaily,  tried  to  pay  her  one  or  two  compli- 
ments relative  to  her  new  position  as  a  bride  (which  compliments, 
it  must  be  confessed,  were  exceedingly  clumsy  and  hung  fire  woe- 
fully), and  then  fell  to  talking  about  Brighton,  and  the  sea-air, 
and  the  gaieties  of  the  place,  and  the  beauties  of  the  road  and  the 
merits  of  the  Lightning  coach  and  horses, — all  in  a  manner  quite 
incomprehensible  to  Amelia,  and  very  amusing  to  Rebecca,-  whor 
was  watching  the  Captain,  as  indeed  she  watched  every  one  near/ 
whom  she  came. 

Little  Amelia,  it  must  be  owned,  had  rather  a  mean  opinion  of 
her  husband's  Mend,  Captain  Dobbin.  He  lisped — he  was  very  plain 
and  homely-looking :  and  exceedingly  awkward  and  ungainly.  She 
liked  him  for  his  attachment  to  her  luisband  (to  be  sure  there  was 
very  little  merit  in  that),  and  she  thought  George  was  most  generous 
and  kind  in  extending  his  friendship  to  his  brother  officer.     George 


226  VANITY    FAIR 

had  mimicked  Dobbin's  lisp  and  queer  manners  many  times  to  her, 
though,  to  do  him  justice,  he  always  spoke  most  highly  of  his  friend's 
good  qualities.  In  her  little  day  of  triiimph,  and  not  knowing  him 
intimately  as  yet,  she  made  light  of  honest  William — and  he  knew 
her  opinions  of  him  quite  well,  and  acquiesced  in  them  very  humbly. 
A  time  came  when  she  knew  him  better,  and  changed  her  notions 
regarding  him  ;  but  that  was  distant  as  yet. 

As  for  Rebecca,  Captain  Dobbin  had  not  been  two  hours  in  the 
'adies'  company  before  she  understood  his  secret  perfectly,  She  did. 
not  like  him,  and  feared  him  privately ;  nor  was  he  very  much  pre- 
possessed in  her  favour.  He  was  so  honest,ithat  her  arts  and  cajoleries; 
lid  not  affect  him,  and  he  shrank  from  her  with  instinctive  repulsion. 
And,  as  she  was  by  no  means  so  far  superior  to  her  sex  as  to  be  above 
jealousy,  she  disliked  him  the  more  for  his  adoration  of  Amelia. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  very  respectful  and  cordial  in  her  manner 
towards  him.  A  friend  to  the  Osbornes !  a  friend  to  her  dearest 
benefactors  !  She  vowed  she  should  always  love  him  sincerely  :  she 
remembered  him  quite  well  on  the  Vauxhall  night,  as  she  told 
Amelia  archly,  and  she  made  a  little  fun  of  him  when  the  two 
ladies  went  to  dress  for  dinner.  Rawdon  Crawley  paid  scarcely 
any  attention  to  Dobbin,  looking  upon  him  as  a  good-natured  nin- 
compoop and  underbred  City  man.  Jos  patronised  him  with  much 
dignity. 

When  George  and  Dobbin  were  alone  in  the  latter's  room,  to  which 
George  had  followed  him,  Dobbin  took  from  his  desk  the  letter  which 
he  had  been  charged  by  Mr.  Osborne  to  deliver  to  his  son.  "  It's 
not  in  my  father's  handwriting,"  said  George,  looking  rather  alarmed ; 
nor  was  it :  the  letter  was  from  Mr.  Osborne's  lawyer,  and  to  the 
following  effect : — 

"Bedford  Row,  May  7,  1815. 

"  Sir, — I  am  commissioned  by  Mr.  Osborne  to  inform  you,  that 
he  abides  by  the  determination  which  he  before  expressed  to  you,  and 
that  in  consequence  of  the  marriage  which  you  have  been  pleased  to 
contract,  he  ceases  to  consider  you  henceforth  as  a  member  of  his 
family.     This  determination  is  final  and  irrevocable. 

"  Although  the  moneys  expended  upon  you  in  your  minority,  and 
the  bills  which  you  have  drawn  upon  him  so  unsparingly  of  late  years, 
far  exceed  in  amount  the  sum  to  which  you  are  entitled  in  your  own 
right  (being  the  third  part  of  the  fortune  of  your  mother,  the  late  Mrs. 
Osborne,  and  which  reverted  to  you  at  her  decease,  and  to  Miss  Jane 
Osborne  and  Miss  Maria  Frances  Osborne) ;  yet  I  am  instructed  by 
Mr.  Osborne  to  say,  that  he  waives  all  claim  upon  your  estate,  and 
that  the  sum  of  £2000,  4  per  cent,  annuities,  at  the  value  of  th^ 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  Ta'j 

day  (being  your  one-third  share  of  the  sum  of  £6000),  shall  be  paid 
over  to  yourself  or  your  agents  upon  your  receipt  for  the  same,  by 
your  obedient  Servt.,  S.  Higgs. 

"P.»S'. — Mr.  Osborne  desires  r6e  to  say,  once  for  all,  that  he 
declines  to  receive  any  messages,  letters,  or  communications  from 
you  on  this  or  any  other  subject." 

"  A  pretty  way  you  have  managed  the  affair,"  said  George,  looking 
savagely  at  William  Dobbin.  "  Look  there,  Dobbin,"  and  he  flung 
over  to  the  latter  his  parent's  letter.  "  A  beggar,  by  Jove,  and  all 
in  consequence  of  my  d — d  sentimentality.  Why  couldn't  we  have 
waited "?  A  ball  might  have  done  for  me  in  the  course  of  the  war, 
and  may  still,  and  how  will  Emmy  be  bettered  by  being  left  a 
beggar's  widow  *?  _It  was  all  jour  doing.  You  were  never  easy  until 
you  had  got  me  married  and  ruined.  What  the  deuce  am  I  to  do 
with  two  thousand  pounds  ?  Such  a  sum  won't  last  two  years. 
I've  lost  a  hundred  and  forty  to  Crawley  at  cards  and  billiards  since 
I've  been  down  here.  A  pretty  manager  of  a  man's  matters  ymi 
are,  forsooth." 

"  There's  no  denying  that  the  position  is  a  hard  one,"  Dobbin 
replied,  after  reading  over  the  letter  with  a  blank  countenance  : 
"  and  as  you  say,  it  is  partly  of  my  making.  There  are  some  men 
who  wouldn't  mind  changing  with  you,"  he  added,  with  a  bittc^r 
smile.  "  How  many  captains  in  the  regiment  have  two  thousand 
pounds  to  the  fore,  think  you  1  You  must  live  on  your  pay  till  your 
father  relents,  and  if  you  die,  you  leave  your  wife  a  hundred  a  year." 

"  Do  you  suppose  a  man  of  my  habits  can  live  on  his  pay  and  a 
hundred  a  year  1 "  George  cried  out  in  great  anger.  "  You  must  be 
a  fool  to  talk  so,  Dobbin.  How  the  deuce  am  I  to  keep  up  my 
position  in  the  world  upon  such  a  pitifid  pittance  ?  I  can't  change 
my  habits.  I  must  have  my  comforts.  /  wasn't  brought  up  on 
ponidge,  like  MacWhirter,  or  on  potatoes,  like  old  O'Dowd.  Do 
you  expect  my  wife  to  take  in  soldiers'  washing,  or  ride  after  the 
regiment  in  a  baggage-waggon  % " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Dobbin,  still  good-naturedly,  "  we'll  get  her 
a  better  conveyance.  But  try  and  remember  that  you  are  only  a 
dethroned  prince  now,  George,  my  boy ;  and  be  quiet  whilst  the 
tempest  lasts.  It  won't  be  for  long.  Let  your  name  be  mentioned 
in  the  Gazette,  and  I'll  engage  the  old  father  relents  towards  you." 

"  Mentioned  in  the  Gazette  !  "  George  answered.  "  And  in  what 
part  of  it  ?  Among  the  killed  and  wounded  returns,  and  at  the  top 
of  the  list,  very  likely." 

"  Psha  !     It  will  De  time  enough  to  cry  out  when  we  are  hurt," 


/ 

/ 


228  VANITY    FAIR 

Dobbin  said.  "  And  if  anything  happens,  you  know,  George,  I  have 
got  a  little,  and  I  am  not  a  marrying  man,  and  I  shall  not  forget 
my  godson  in  my  will,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  Whereupon  the 
dispute  ended — as  many  scores  of  such  conversations  between 
Osborne  and  his  friend  had  concluded  previously — by  the  former 
declaring  there  was  no  possibility  of  being  angry  with  Dobbin  long, 
and  forgiving  him  very  generously  after  abusing  him  without  cause. 

"  I  say,  Becky,"  cried  Rawdon  Crawley  out  of  his  dressing-room, 
to  his  lady,  who  was  attiring  herself  for  dinner  in  her  own  chamber. 

"  What  1 "  said  Becky's  shrill  voice.  She  was  looking  over  her 
shoulder  in  the  glass.  She  had  put  on  the  neatest  and  freshest 
white  frock  imaginable,  and  with  bare  shoulders  and  a  little  neck- 
lace, and  a  light  blue  sash,  she  looked  the  image  of  youthful 
innocence  and  girlish  happiness. 

"  I  say,  what'U  Mrs.  0.  do,  when  0.  goes  out  with  the  regi- 
ment 1 "  Crawley  said,  coming  into  the  room,  performing  a  duet  on 
his  head  with  two  huge  hair-brushes,  and  looking  out  from  under 
his  hair  with  admiration  on  his  pretty  little  wife. 

"I  suppose  she'll  cry  her  eyes  out,"  Becky  answered.  She 
has  been  whimpering  half-a-dozen  times,  at  the  very  notion  of  it, 
already  to  me." 

"  You  don't  care,  I  suppose  1 "  Rawdon  said,  half  angry  at  his 
wife's  want  of  feeling. 

"  You  wretch  !  don't  you  know  that  I  intend  to  go  with  you," 
Becky  replied.  "Besides,  you're  different.  You  go  as  General 
Tufto's  aide-de-camp.  We  don't  belong  to  the  line,"  Mrs.  Crawley 
said,  throwing  up  her  head  with  an  air  that  so  enchanted  her 
husband  that  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  it. 

"  Rawdon  dear — don't  you  think — you'd  better  get  that — money 
from  Cupid,  before  he  goes  ? "  Becky  continued,  fixing  on  a  killing 
bow.  She  called  George  Osborne,  Cupid.  She  had  flattered  him 
about  his  good  looks  a  score  of  times  already.  She  watched  over 
him  kindly  at  ^cart^  of  a  night  when  he  would  drop  into  Rawdon's 
quarters  for  a  half-hour  before  bed-time. 

She  had  often  called  him  a  horrid  dissipated  wretch,  and  threatened 
to  tell  Emmy  of  his  wicked  ways  and  naughty  extravagant  habits. 
She  brought  his  cigar  and  lighted  it  for  him ;  she  knew  the  effect  of 
that  manceuvre,  having  practised  it  in  former  days  upon  Rawdon 
Crawley.  He  thought  her  gay,  brisk,  arch,  distingu^,  delightful.^ 
In  their  little  drives  and  dinners,  Becky,  of  course,  quite  outshone 
poor  Emmy,  who  remained  very  mute  and  timid  while  Mrs.  Crawley 
and  her  husband  rattled  away  together,  and  Captain  Crawley  (and 
Jos  after  lie  joined  the  young  manied  people)  gobbled  in  silence. 

Emmy's  mind  somehow  misgave  her  about  her  friend.     Rebecca's 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  219 

wit,  spirits,  and  accomplishments  troubled  her  with  a  rueful  disquiet. 
They  were  only  a  week  married,  and  here  was  George  already  suffer- 
ing ennui,  and  eager  for  others'  society !  She  trembled  for  the 
Tuture.  How  shall  I  be  a  companion  for  him,  she  thought, — so 
"clever  and  so  brilliant,  and  I  such  ^  humble  foolish  creature  ?  How 
noble  it  was  of  him  to  marry  me — to  give  up  everything  and  stoop 
down  to  me  !  I  ought  to  have  refused  him,  only  I  had  not  the. 
heart.  I  ought  to  have  stopped  at  home  and  taken  care  of  poor 
"papa.  And  her  neglect  of  her  parents  (and  indeed  there  was  some 
foundation  for  this  charge  which  the  poor  child's  uneasy  conscience 
brought  against  her)  was  now  remembered  for  the  first  time,  and 
caused  her  to  blush  with  humiliation.  Oh  !  thought  she,  I  have 
been  very  wicked  and  selfish— selfish  in  forgetting  them  in  their 
sorrows — selfish  in  forcing  George  to  marry  me.  I  know  I'm  not 
worthy  of  him — I  know  he  would  have  been  happy  without  me — 
and  yet — I  tried,  I  tried  to  give  him  up. 

It  is  hard  when,  before  seven  days  of  marriage  are  over,  such 
thoughts  and  confessions  as  these  force  themselves  on  a  little  bride's 
mind.  But  so  it  was,  and  the  night  before  Dobbin  came  to  join  these 
young  people — on  a  fine  brilliant  moonlight  night  of  May — so  warm 
and  balmy  that  the  windows  were  flung  open  to  the  balcony,  from, 
which  George  and  Mrs.  Crawley  were  gazing  upon  the  calm  ocean  J" 
spread  shining  before  them,  while  Rawdon  and  Jos  were  engaged  at 
backgammon  within — Amelia  couched  in  a  great  chair  quite  neglected, 
and  watching  both  these  parties,  felt  a  despair  and  remorse  such  as 
were  bitter  companions  for  that  tender  lonely  soul.  Scarce  a  week 
was  past,  and  it  was  come  to  this  !  The  future,  had  she  regarded 
it,  offered  a  dismal  prospect ;  but  Emmy  was  too  shy,  so  to  speak, 
to  look  to  that,  and  embark  alone  on  that  wide  sea,  and  unfit  to 
navigate  it  without  a  guide  and  protector.  I  know  Miss  Smith 
has  a  mean  opinion  of  her.  But  how  many,  my  dear  Madam,  are 
endowed  with  your  prodigious  strength  of  mind  1 

"  Gad,  what  a  fine  night,  and  how  bright  the  moon  is  !  "  George 
said,  with  a  puff  of  his  cigar,  which  went  soaring  up  skywards. 

"  How  delicious  they  smell  in  the  open  air  !  I  adore  them. 
Who'd  think  the  moon  was  two  hundred  and  thirty-six  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  forty-seven  miles  off?"  Becky  added,  gazing  at 
that  orb  with  a  smile.  "  Isn't  it  clever  of  me  to  remember  that  ? 
Pooh  !  we  learned  it  all  at  Miss  Pinkerton's !  How  calm  the  sea 
is,  and  how  clear  everything.  I  declare  I  can  almost  see  the  coast 
of  France  ! "  and  her  bright  green  eyes  streamed  out,  and  shot  into 
the  night  as  if  they  co2*/(i  see  through  it. .  ,    ./' 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  intend  to  do  one  morning  1 "  she  said  ; 
"I  find  I  can  swim  beautifully,  and  some  day,  when  my  Aunt 


230  VANITY    FAIR 

Crawley's  companion— old  Briggs,  you  know — you  remember  her — 
that  hook-nosed  woman,  with  the  long  wisps  of  hair — wlien  Briggs 
goes  out  to  bathe,  I  intend  to  dive  under  her  awning,  and  insist  on 
a  reconciliation  in  the  water.     Isn't  that  a  stratagem  1 " 

George  burst  out  laughing  at  the  idea  of  this  aquatic  meeting. 
"What's  the  row  there,  you  two?"  Rawdon  shouted  out,  rattling 
the  box.  Amelia  was  making  a  fool  of  herself  in  an  absurd  hysterical 
manner,  and  retired  to  her  own  room  to  whimper  in  private. 

Our  history  is  destined  in  this  chapter  to  go  backwards  and 
forwards  in  a  very  irresolute  manner  seemingly,  and  having  con- 
ducted our  story  to  to-morrow  presently,  we  shall  immediately  agfiin 
have  occasion  to  step  back  to  yesterday,  so  that  the  whole  of  tlie 
tale  may  get  a  hearing.  As  you  behold  at  her  Majesty's  drawing- 
room,  the  ambassadors'  and  high  dignitaries'  carriages  whisk  off' 
from  a  private  door,  while  Captain  Jones's  ladies  are  waiting  for 
their  fly  :  as  you  see  in  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury's  antechamber, 
a  half-dozen  of  petitioners  waiting  patiently  for  their  audience,  and 
called  out  one  by  one,  when  suddenly  an  Irish  member  or  some 
eminent  personage  enters  the  apartment,  and  instantly  walks  in  to 
Mr.  Under-Secretary  over  the  heads  of  all  the  people  present :  so, 
in  the  conduct  of  a  tale,  the  romancer  is  obliged  to  exercise  this 
most  partial  sort  of  justice.  Although  all  the  little  incidents  must 
be  heard,  yet  they  must  be  put  oft'  when  the  great  events  make  their 
appearance ;  and  surely  such  a  circumstance  as  that  which  brought 
Dobbin  to  Brighton,  viz.,  the  ordering  out  of  the  Guards  and  the 
line  to  Belgium,  and  the  mustering  of  the  allied  armies  in  that 
country  under  the  command  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
— such  a  dignified  circumstance  as  that,  I  say,  was  entitled  to  the 
pas  over  all  minor  occurrences  whereof  this  history  is  composed 
mainly,  and  hence  a  little  trifling  disarrangement  and  disorder  was 
excusable  and  becoming.  We  have  only  now  advanced  in  time  so 
far  beyond  Chapter  XXII.  as  to  have  got  our  various  characters 
up  into  their  dressing-rooms  before  the  dinner,  which  took  place  as 
usual  on  the  day  of  Dobbin's  arrival. 

George  was  too  humane  or  too  much  occupied  with  the  tie  of 
his  neckcloth  to  convey  at  once  all  the  news  to  Amelia  wliich  his 
comrade  had  brought  with  him  from  London.  He  came  into  her 
room,  however,  holding  the  attorney's  letter  in  his  hand,  and  with 
80  solemn  and  important  an  air  that  his  wife,  always  ingeniously  on 
the  watch  for  calamity,  thought  the  worst  was  about  to  befall,  and 
running  up  to  her  husband,  besought  her  dearest  George  to  tell  iier 
everything — he  was  ordered  abroad ;  there  would  be  a  battle  next 
week — she  knew  there  would. 

Dearest  George  jjarried  the  question  about  foreign  service,  and 


A  FAMILT   PARTY   AT   BRIGHTON. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  z$i 

with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head  said,  "  No,  Emmy ;  it  isn't 
that :  it's  not  myself  I  care  about :  it's  you.  I  have  had  bad  news 
from  my  father.  He  refuses  any  communication  with  me ;  he  has 
flung  us  off;  and  leaves  us  to  poverty.  /  can  rough  it  well  enough ; 
but  you,  my  dear,  how  will  you  bear  it?  read  here."  And  he 
handed  her  over  the  letter. 

Amelia,  with  a  look  of  tender  alarm  in  her  eyes,  listened  to  her 
noble  hero  as  he  uttered  the  above  generous  sentiments,  and  sitting 
down  on  the  bed,  read  the  letter  which  George  gave  her  with  such 
a  pompous  martyr-like  air.  Her  face  cleared  up  as  she  read  the 
document,  however.  The  idea  of  sharing  poverty  and  privation  in 
company  with  the  beloved  object  is,  as  we  have  before  said,  far  from 
being  disagreeable  to  a  warm-hearted  woman.  The  notion  was 
actually  pleasant  to  little  Amelia.  Then,  as  usual,  she  was  ashamed 
of  hei*se}f  for  feeling  happy  at  such  an  indecorous  moment,  and 
checked  her  pleasure,  saying  demurely,  "Oh,  George,  how  your 
poor  heart  must  bleed  at  the  idea  of  being  separated  from  your 
papa ! " 

"  It  does,"  said  George,  with  an  agonised  countenance. 

"  But  he  can't  be  angry  with  you  long,"  she  continued.  "  No- 
body could,  I'm  sure.  He  must  forgive  you,  my  dearest,  kindest 
husband.     Oh,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  if  he  does  not." 

"What  vexes  me,  my  poor  Emmy,  is  not  my  misfortune,  but 
yours,"  George  said.  "  I  don't  care  for  a  little  poverty ;  and  I 
think,  without  vanity,  I've  talents  enough  to  make  my  own  way." 

"  That  you  have,"  interposed  his  wife,  who  thought  that  war 
should  cease,  and  her  husband  should  be  made  a  general  instantly. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  make  my  way  as  well  as  another,"  Osborne  went 
on ;  "  but  you,  my  dear  girl,  how  can  I  bear  your  being  deprived  of 
the  comforts  and  station  in  society  which  my  wife  had  a  right  to 
expect  1  My  dearest  girl  in  barracks ;  the  wife  of  a  soldier  in  a 
marching  regiment ;  subject  to  all  sorts  of  annoyance  and  privation  ! 
It  makes  me  miserable." 

Emmy,  quite  at  ease,  as  this  was  her  husband's  only  cause  of 
disquiet,  took  his  hand,  and  with  a  radiant  face  and  smile  began  to 
warble  that  stanza  from  the  favourite  song  of  "  Wapping  Old  Stairs," 
in  which  the  heroine,  after  rebuking  her  Tom  for  inattention,  promises 
"  his  trousers  to  mend,  and  his  grog  too  to  make,"  if  he  will  be  con- 
stant and  kind,  and  not  forsake  her.  "  Besides,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  she  looked  as  pretty  and  happy  as  any  young 
woman  need,  "  isn't  two  thousand  pounds  an  immense  deal  of  money, 
George?" 

George  laughed  at  her  naivete ;  and  finally  they  went  down  to 
dinner,  Amelia  clinging  to  George's  anu,  still  warbling  the  tune  of 


232  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Wapping  Old  Stairs,"  and  more  pleased  and  light  of  mind  tlian  she 
had  been  for  some  days  past. 

Thus  the  repast,  which  at  length  came  off,  instead  of  being 
dismal,  was  an  exceedingly  brisk  and  merry  one.  The  excitement 
of  the  campaign  counteracted  in  George's  mind  the  depression  occa- 
sioned by  the  disinheriting  letter.  Dobbin  still  kept  up  his  character 
of  rattle.  He  amused  the  company  with  accounts  of  the  army  in 
Belgium,  where  nothing  but  fetes  and  gaiety  and  fashion  were  going 
on.  Then,  having  a  particular  end  in  view,  this  dexterous  captain 
proceeded  to  describe  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  packing  her  own  and  her 
Major's  wardrobe,  and  how  his  best  epaulets  had  been  stowed  into  a 
tea  canister,  whilst  her  own  famous  yellow  turban,  with  the  bird  of 
paradise  wrapped  in  brown  paper,  was  locked  up  in  the  Major's 
tin  cocked-hat  case,  and  wondered  what  effect  it  would  have  at 
the  French  king's  court  at  Ghent,  or  the  great  military  balls  at 
Brussels. 

"  Ghent !  Brussels  !  "  cried  out  Amelia  with  a  sudden  shock  and 
start.  "  Is  the  regiment  ordered  away,  George, — is  it  ordered 
away  1"  A  look  of  terror  came  over  the  sweet  smiling  face,  and  she 
clung  to  George  as  by  an  instinct. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  dear,"  he  said  good-naturedly;  "it  is  but 
a  twelve  hours'  passage.  It  won't  hurt  you.  You  shall  go,  too, 
Emmy." 

"/  intend  to  go,"  said  Becky.  "I'm  on  the  staff.  General 
Tufto  is  a  great  flirt  of  mine.     Isn't  he,  Rawdon  1 " 

Rawdon  laughed  out  with  his  usual  roar.  William  Dobbin 
flushed  up  quite  red.  "  She  can't  go,"  he  said ;  "  think  of  the — of 
the  danger,"  he  was  going  to  add ;  but  had  Tiot  all  his  conversation 
dming  dinner-time  tended  to  prove  there  was  nonel  He  became 
very  co  fused  and  silent. 

"  I  must  and  will  go,"  Amelia  cried  with  the  greatest  spirit ;  and 
George,  applauding  her  resolution,  patted  her  under  the  chin,  and 
asked  all  the  persons  present  if  they  ever  saw  such  a  termagant  of  a 
wife,  and  agreed  that  the  lady  should  bear  him  company.  "  We'll 
have  Mrs.  O'Dowd  to  chaperon  you,"  he  said.  What  cared  she  so 
long  as  her  husband  was  near  her  1  Thus  somehow  the  bitterness  of 
a  parting  was  juggled  away.  Though  war  and  danger  were  in  store, 
war  and  danger  might  not  befall  for  months  to  come.  There  was  a 
respite  at  any  rate,  which  made  the  timid  little  Amelia  almost  as 
happy  as  a  full  reprieve  would  have  done,  and  which  even  Dobbin 
owned  in  his  heart  was  very  welcome.  For,  to  be  permitted  to  see 
her  was  now  the  greatest  privilege  and  hope  of  his  life,  and  he 
thought  with  himself  secretly  how  he  would  watch  and  protect  her. 
I  wouldn't  have  let  her  go  if  I  had  been  manied  to  her,  he  thought. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  233 

But  George  was  the  master,  and  his  friend  did  not  think  fit  to 
remonstrate. 

Putting  her  arm  round  her  friend's  waist,  Rebecca  at  length 
carried  Amelia  off  from  the  dinner-teble,  where  so  much  business  of 
importance  had  been  discussed,  and  left  the  gentlemen  in  a  highly 
exhilarated  state,  drinking  and  talking  very  gaily. 

In  the  coui"se  of  the  evening  Rawdon  got  a  little  family-note  from 
his  wife,  which,  although  he  crumpled  it  up  and  burnt  it  instantly 
in  the  candle,  we  had  the  good  luck  to  read  over  Rebecca's  shoulder. 
"Great  news,"  she  wrote.  "Mrs.  Bute  is  gone.  Get  the  money 
from  Cupid  to-night,  as  he'll  be  off  to-morrow  most  likely.  Mind 
this. — R."  So  when  the  little  company  was  about  adjourning  to 
coffee  in  the  women's  apartment,  Rawdon  touched  Osborne  on  the 
elbow,  and  said  gracefully,  "  I  say,  Osborne,  my  boy,  if  quite  con- 
venient, I'll  trouble  you  for  that  'ere  small  trifle."  It  was  not  quite 
convenient,  but  nevertheless  George  gave  him  a  considerable  present 
instalment  in  bank-notes  from  his  pocket-book,  and  a  bill  on  his 
agents  at  a  week's  date  for  the  remaining  sum. 

This  matter  aiTanged,  George,  and  Jos,  and  Dobbin  held  a  council 
of  war  over  their  cigars,  and  agreed  that  a  general  move  should  be 
made  for  London  in  Jos's  open  carriage  the  next  day.  Jos,  I  think, 
would  have  preferred  staying  until  Rawdon  Crawley  quitted  Brighton, 
but  Dobbin  and  George  overruled  him,  and  he  agreed  to  carry  the 
party  to  town,  and  ordered  four  horses,  as  became  his  dignity.  With 
these  they  set  off  in  state,  after  breakfast,  the  next  day.  Amelia  had 
risen  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  packed  her  little  trunks  with  the 
greatest  alacrity,  while  Osborne  lay  in  bed  deploring  that  she  had  not 
a  maid  to  help  her.  She  was  only  too  glad,  however,  to  perform  this 
office  for  herself  A  dim  uneasy  sentiment  about  Rebecca  filled  her 
mind  already ;  and  although  they  kissed  each  other  most  tenderly  at 
parting,  yet  we  know  what  jealousy  is ;  and  Mrs.  Amelia  possessed 
that  among  other  virtues  of  her  sex. 

Besides  these  characters  who  are  coming  and  going  away,  we 
must  remember  that  there  were  some  other  old  friends  of  ours  at 
Brighton ;  Miss  Crawley,  namely,  and  the  suite  in  attendance  upon 
her.  Now,  although  Rebecca  and  her  husband  were  but  at  a  few 
stones'  throw  of  the  lodgings  which  the  invalid  Miss  Crawley  occupied, 
the  old  lady's  door  remained  as  pitilessly  closed  to  them  as  it  had 
been  heretofore  in  London.  As  long  as  she  remained  by  the  side  of 
her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  took  care  that  her  beloved 
Matilda  should  not  be  agitated  by  a  meeting  with  her  nephew. 
When  the  spinster  took  her  drive,  the  faithful  Mrs.  Bute  sate  beside 
her  in  the  carriage.  When  Miss  Crawley  took  the  air  in  a  chair, 
1 


.L 


4^4  VANITY    FAIR 

Mrs.  Bute  marched  on  one  side  of  the  vehicle,  while  honest  Briggs 
occupied  the  other  wing.  And  if  they  met  Rawdon  and  his  wife  by 
chance — although  the  former  constantly  and  obsequiously  took  off  his 
hat,  the  Miss-Crawley  party  passed  him  by  with  such  a  frigid  and 
killing  indifference,  that  Rawdon  began  to  despair. 

"We  might  as  well  be  in  London  as  here,"  Captain  Rawdon 
often  said,  with  a  downcast  air. 

"  A  comfortable  inn  in  Brighton  is  better  than  a  spunging-house 
in  Chancery  Lane,"  his  wife  answered,  who  was  of  a  more  cheerful 
temperament.  "  Think  of  those  two  aides-de-camp  of  Mr.  Moses, 
the  sheriff's-oificer,  who  watched  our  lodgings  for  a  week.  Our 
friends  here  are  very  stupid,  but  Mr.  Jos  and  Captain  Cupid  are 
better  companions  than  Mr.  Moses's  men,  Rawdon,  my  love." 

"  I  wonder  the  writs  haven't  followed  me  down  here,"  Rawdon 
continued,  still  desponding. 

"When  they  do,  we'll  find  means  to  give  them  the  slip,"  said 
dauntless  little  Becky,  and  further  pointed  out  to  her  husband  the 
great  comfort  and  advantage  of  meeting  Jos  and  Osborne,  whose 
acquaintance  had  brought  to  Rawdon  Crawley  a  most  timely  little 
supply  of  ready  money. 

"  It  will  hardly  be  enough  to  pay  the  inn  bill,"  grumbled  the 
Guardsman. 

"  Why  need  we  pay  it  ? "  said  the  lady,  who  had  an  answer  for 
everything. 

Through  Rawdon's  valet,  who  still  kept  up  a  trifling  acquaintance 
with  the  male  inhabitants  of  Miss  Crawley's  servants'  hall,  and  was 
instructed  to  treat  the  coachman  to  drink  whenever  they  met,  old 
Miss  Crawley's  movements  were  pretty  well  known  by  our  young 
couple ;  and  Rebecca  luckily  bethought  herself  of  being  unwell,  and 
of  calling  in  the  same  apothecary  who  was  in  attendance  upon  the 
spinster,  so  that  their  information  was  on  the  whole  tolerably  com- 
plete. Nor  was  Miss  Briggs,  although  forced  to  adopt  a  hostile 
attitude,  secretly  inimical  to  Rawdon  and  his  wife.  She  was  naturally 
of  a  kindly  and  forgiving  disposition.  Now  that  the  cause  of  jealousy 
was  removed,  her  dishke  for  Rebecca  disappeared  also,  and  she 
remembered  the  latter's  invariable  good  words  and  good  humour. 
And,  indeed,  she  and  Mrs.  Firkin,  the  lady's-maid,  and  the  whole 
of  Miss  Crawley's  household,  groaned  under  the  tyranny  of  the 
triumphant  Mrs.  Bute. 

As  often  will  be  the  case,  that  good  but  impMious  woman  pushed 
her  advantages  too  far,  and  her  successes  quite  unmercifully.'  She 
had  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  brought  the  invalid  to  such  a  state 
of  helpless  docility,  that  the  poor  soul  yielded  herself  entirely  to  her 
sister's  orders,  and  did  not  even  dare  to  complain  of  her  slavery  to 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  135 

Briggs  or  Firkin.  Mrs.  Bute  measured  out  the  glasses  of  wine  which 
Miss  Crawley  was  daily  allowed  to  take,  with  irresistible  accuracy, 
greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  Firkin  and  the  butler,  who  found  them- 
selves deprived  of  control  over  even  the  sherry-bottle.  She  appor- 
tioned the  sweetbreads,  jellies,  chi(5kens ;  their  quantity  and  order. 
Night  and  noon  and  morning  she  brought  the  abominable  drinks 
ordained  by  the  doctor,  and  made  her  patient  swallow  them  with  so 
affecting  an  obedience,  that  Firkin  said,  "  My  poor  Missus  du  take 
her  physic  like  a  lamb."  She  prescribed  the  drive  in  the  carriage  or 
the  ride  in  the  chair,  and,  in  a  word,  ground  down  the  old  lady  in  her 
convalescence  in  such  a  way  as  only  belongs  to  your  proper-managing, 
motherly  moral  woman.  If  ever  the  patient  faintly  resisted,  and 
pleaded  for  a  little  bit  more  dinner  or  a  Uttle  drop  less  medicine,  the 
nurse  threatened  her  with  instantaneous  death,  when  Miss  Crawley 
instantly  gave  in.  "  She's  no  spirit  left  in  her,"  Firkin  remarked  to 
Briggs  ;  "  she  ain't  'ave  called  me  a  fool  these  three  weeks."  Finally, 
Mrs.  Bute  had  made  up  her  mind  to  dismiss  the  aforesaid  honest 
lady's-maid,  Mr.  Bowls  the  large  confidential  man,  and  Briggs  herself, 
and  to  send  for  her  daughters  from  the  Rectory,  previous  to  removing 
the  dear  invalid  bodily  to  Queen's  Crawley,  when  an  odious  accident 
happened  which  called  her  away  from  duties  so  pleasing.  The 
Reverend  Bute  Crawley,  her  husband,  riding  home  one  night,  feU 
with  his  horse  and  broke  his  collar-bone.  Fever  and  inflammatory 
symptoms  set  in,  and  Mrs.  Bute  was  forced  to  leave  Sussex  for 
Hampshire.  As  soon  as  ever  Bute  was  restored,  she  promised  to 
return  to  her  dearest  friend,  and  departed,  leaving  the  strongest 
injunctions  with  the  household  regarding  their  behaviour  to  their 
mistress ;  and  as  soon  as  she  got  into  the  Southampton  coach,  there 
was  such  a  jubilee  and  sense  of  relief  in  all  Miss  Crawley's  house,  as 
the  company  of  persons  assembled  there  had  not  experienced  for  many 
a  week  before.  That  very  day  Miss  Crawley  left  off  her  afternoon 
dose  of  medicine  :  that  afternoon  Bowls  opened  an  independent  bottle 
of  sherry  for  himself  and  Mrs.  Firkin  :  that  night  Miss  Crawley  and 
Miss  Briggs  indulged  in  a  game  of  piquet  instead  of  one  of  Porteus's 
sermons.  It  was  as  in  the  old  nursery-story,  when  the  stick  forgot 
to  beat  the  dog,  and  the  whole  course  of  events  underwent  a  peaceftd 
and  happy  revolution. 

At  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning,  twice  or  thrice  a  week,  Miss 
Briggs  used  to  betake  herself  to  a  bathing-machine,  and  disport  in  the 
water  in  a  flannel  gown  and  an  oilskin  cap.  Rebecca,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  aware  of  this  circumstance,  and  though  she  did  not  attempt 
to  storm  Briggs  as  she  had  threatened,  and  actually  dive  into  that 
lady's  presence  and  surprise  her  under  the  sacredness  of  the  awning, 
Mrs.  Rawdon  determined  to  attack  Briggs  as  she  came  away  from 


236  VANITY    FAIR 

her  bath,  refreshed  and  invigorated  by  her  dip,  and  likely  to  be  in 
good  humour. 

So  getting  up  very  early  the  next  morning,  Becky  brought  the 
telescope  in  their  sitting-room,  which  faced  the  sea,  to  bear  upon  the 
bathing-machines  on  the  beach ;  saw  Briggs  arrive,  enter  her  box,  and 
put  out  to  sea ;  and  was  on  the  shore  just  as  the  nymph  of  whom 
she  came  in  quest  stepped  out  of  the  little  caravan  on  to  the  shingles. 
It  was  a  pretty  picture  :  the  beach  ;  the  bathing-women's  faces ;  the 
long  line  of  rocks  and  building  were  blusliing  and  bright  in  the 
sunshine.  Rebecca  wore  a  kind,  tender  smile  on  her  face,  and  was 
holding  out  her  pretty  white  hand  as  Briggs  emerged  from  the  box. 
What  could  Briggs  do  but  accept  the  salutation  1 

"  Miss  Sh — ,  Mrs.  Crawley,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Crawley  seized  her  hand,  pressed  it  to  her  heart,  and  with 
a  sudden  impulse,  flinging  her  arms  round  Briggs,  kissed  her  affec- 
tionately. "  Dear,  dear  friend ! "  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  such 
natural  feeling,  that  Miss  Briggs  of  course  at  once  began  to  melt, 
and  even  the  bathing-woman  was  mollified. 

Rebecca  found  no  difficulty  in  engaging  Briggs  in  a  long,  intimate, 
and  delightful  conversation.  Everything  that  had  passed  since  the 
morning  of  Becky's  sudden  departure  from  Miss  Crawley's  house  in 
Park  Lane  up  to  the  present  day,  and  Mrs.  Bute's  happy  retreat, 
was  discussed  and  described  by  Briggs.  All  Miss  Crawley's  symptoms, 
and  the  particulars  of  her  illness  and  medical  treatment,  were  nar- 
rated by  the  confidante  with  that  fulness  and  accuracy  which  women 
delight  in.  About  their  complaints  and  their  doctors  do  ladies  ever 
tire  of  talking  to  each  other  1  Briggs  did  not  on  this  occasion  ;  nor 
did  Rebecca  weary  of  listening.  She  was  thankful,  truly  thankful, 
that  the  dear  kind  Briggs,  that  the  faithfid,  the  invaluable  Firkin,  had 
been  permitted  to  remain  with  their  benefactress  through  her  illness. 
Heaven  bless  her  !  though  she,  Rebecca,  had  seemed  to  act  unduti- 
fully  towards  Miss  Crawley ;  yet  was  not  her  fault  a  natural  and 
excusable  one  1  Could  she  help  giving  her  hand  to  the  man  who  had 
won  her  heart  ?  Briggs,  the  sentimental,  could  only  turn  up  her  eyes 
to  heaven  at  this  appeal,  and  heave  a  sympathetic  sigh,  and  think 
that  she,  too,  had  given  away  her  affections  long  years  ago,  and  own 
that  Rebecca  was  no  very  great  criminal. 

"  Can  I  ever  forget  her  who  so  befriended  the  friendless  orphan  ? 
No,  though  she  has  cast  me  off,"  the  latter  said,  "  I  shall  never  cease 
to  love  her,  and  I  would  devote  my  life  to  her  service.  As  my  own 
benefactress,  as  my  beloved  Rawdon's  adored  relative,  I  love  and 
admire  Miss  Crawley,  dear  Miss  Briggs,  beyond  any  woman  in  the 
world,  and  next  to  her  I  love  all  those  who  are  faithful  to  her.  / 
would  never  have  treated  Miss  Crawley's  faithful  friends  as  that 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  237 

odious  designing  Mrs.  Bute  has  done.  Rawdon,  who  was  all  heart," 
Rebecca  continued,  "  although  his  outward  manners  might  seem  rough 
and  careless,  had  said  a  hundred  times,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he 
blessed  Heaven  for  sending  his  dearest  Aunty  two  such  admirable 
nurses  as  her  attached  Firkin  and  her  admirable  Miss  Briggs."  Should 
the  machinations  of  the  horrible  Mrs.  Bute  end,  as  she  too  much  feared 
they  would,  in  banishing  everybody  that  Miss  Crawley  loved  from  her 
side,  and  leaving  that  poor  lady  a  victim  of  those  harpies  at  the  Rectory, 
Rebecca  besought  her  (Miss  Briggs)  to  remember  that  her  own  home, 
humble  as  it  was,  was  always  open  to  receive  Briggs.  "  Dear  friend," 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  transport  of  enthusiasm,  "  some  hearts  can  never 
forget  benefits ;  all  women  are  not  Bute  Crawleys  !  Though  why 
should  I  complain  of  her,"  Rebecca  added ;  "  though  I  have  been  her 
tool  and  the  victim  to  her  arts,  do  I  not  owe  my  dearest  Rawdon  to 
her  1 "  And  Rebecca  unfolded  to  Briggs  all  Mrs.  Bute's  conduct  at 
Queen's  Crawley,  which,  though  unintelligible  to  her  then,  was  clearly 
enough  explained  by  the  events  now, — now  that  the  attachment  had 
sprung  up  which  Mrs.  Bute  had  encouraged  by  a  thousand  artifices, — 
now  that  two  innocent  people  had  fallen  into  the  snares  which  she 
had  laid  for  them,  and  loved  and  married  and  been  ruined  through  her 
schemes. 

It  was  all  very  true.  Briggs  saw  the  stratagems  as  clearly  as 
possible.  Mrs.  Bute  had  made  the  match  between  Rawdon  and 
Rebecca.  Yet,  though  the  latter  was  a  perfectly  innocent  victim. 
Miss  Briggs  could  not  disguise  from  her  friend  her  fear  that  Miss 
Crawley's  affections  were  hopelessly  estranged  from  Rebecca,  and  that 
the  old  lady  would  never  forgive  her  nephew  for  making  so  impru- 
dent a  marriage. 

On  this  point  Rebecca  had  her  own  opinion,  and  still  kept  up  a 
good  heart.  If  Miss  Crawley  did  not  forgive  them  at  present,  she 
might  at  least  relent  on  a  future  day.  Even  now,  there  was  only 
that  puling,  sickly  Pitt  Crawley  between  Rawdon  and  a  baronetcy ; 
and  should  anything  happen  to  the  former,  all  would  be  well.  At 
all  events,  to  have  Mrs.  Bute's  designs  exposed,  and  herself  well 
abused,  was  a  satisfaction,  and  might  be  advantageous  to  Rawdon's 
interest;  and  Rebecca,  after  an  hour's  chat  with  her  recovered 
friend,  left  her  with  the  most  tender  demonstrations  of  regard,  and 
quite  assured  that  the  conversation  they  had  had  together  would 
be  reported  to  Miss  Crawley  before  many  hours  were  over. 

This  interview  ended,  it  became  full  time  for  Rebecca  to  return 
to  her  inn,  where  all  the  party  of  the  previous  day  were  assembled 
at  a  farewell  breakfast.  Rebecca  took  such  a  tender  leave  of  Amelia 
as  became  two  women  who  loved  each  other  as  sisters ;  and  having 
used  her  handkerchief  plentiftdly,  and  hung  on  her  friend's  neck  as 


238  VANITY    FAIR 

if  they  were  parting  for  ever,  and  waved  the  handkerchief  (which 
was  quite  dry,  by  the  way)  out  of  the  window,  as  the  carriage  drove 
off,  she  came  back  to  the  breakfast-table  and  ate  some  prawois,  with 
a  good  deal  of  appetite,  considering  her  emotion ;  and  while  she  was 
munching  these  delicacies,  explained  to  Rawdon  what  had  occurred 
in  her  morning  walk  between  herself  and  Briggs.  Her  hopes  were 
very  high  :  she  made  her  husband  share  them.  She  generally  suc- 
ceeded in  making  her  husband  share  all  her  opinions,  whether 
melancholy  or  cheerful. 

"  You  will  now,  if  you  please,  my  dear,  sit  down  at  the  writing- 
table  and  pen  me  a  pretty  little  letter  to  Miss  Crawley,  in  which 
you'll  say  that  you  are  a  good  boy,  and  that  sort  of  thing."  So 
Rawdon  sate  down,  and  wrote  off,  "  Brighton,  Thursday,"  and  "  My 
dear  Aunt,"  with  great  rapidity :  but  there  the  gallant  officer's  ima- 
gination failed  him.  He  mumbled  the  end  of  his  pen,  and  looked 
up  in  his  wife's  face.  She  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  rueful 
countenance,  and  marching  up  and  down  the  room  with  her  hands 
behind  her,  the  little  woman  began  to  dictate  a  letter,  which  he 
took  down. 

"  Before  quitting  the  country  and  commencing  a  campaign,  which 
very  possibly  may  be  fatal " 

"Whatl"  said  Rawdon,  rather  surprised,  but  took  the  humour 
of  the  phrase,  and  presently  wrote  it  down  with  a  grin. 

"  Which  very  possibly  may  be  fatal,  I  have  come  hither " 

"  Why  not  say  come  here,  Becky  1  come  here's  grammar,"  the 
dragoon  interposed. 

"  I  have  come  hither,"  Rebecca  insisted,  with  a  stamp  of  her 
foot,  "  to  say  farewell  to  my  dearest  and  earliest  friend.  I  beseech 
you  before  I  go,  not  perhaps  to  return,  once  more  to  let  me  press  the 
hand  from  which  I  have  received  nothing  but  kindnesses  all  my  life." 

"  Kindnesses  all  my  life,"  echoed  Rawdon,  scratching  down  the 
words,  and  quite  amazed  at  his  own  facility  of  composition. 

"  I  ask  nothing  from  you  but  that  we  should  part  not  in  anger. 
I  have  the  pride  of  my  family  on  some  points,  though  not  on  all. 
I  married  a  painter's  daughter,  and  am  not  ashamed  of  the  union." 

"  No,  run  me  through  the  body  if  I  am  !  "  Rawdon  ejaculated. 

"You  old  booby,"  Rebecca  said,  pinching  his  ear  and  looking 
over  to  see  that  he  made  no  mistakes  in  spelling — "  beseech  is  not 
spelt  with  an  a,  and  earliest  is."  So  he  altered  these  words,  bowing 
to  the  superior  knowledge  of  his  little  Missis. 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  aware  of  the  progress  of  my  attach- 
ment," Rebecca  continued :  "I  knew  that  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  con- 
firmed and  encouraged  it.  But  I  make  no  reproaches.  I  married 
a  poor  woman,  and  am  content  to  abide  by  what  I  have  done. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  239 

Leave  your  property,  dear  Aunt,  as  you  will.  /  shall  never  com- 
plain of  the  way  in  which  you  dispose  of  it.  I  would  have  you 
believe  that  I  love  you  for  yourself,  and  not  for  money's  sake.  I 
want  to  be  reconciled  to  you  ere  I  leave  England.  Let  me,  let  me 
see  you  before  I  go.  A  few  week^  or  months  hence  it  may  be  too 
late,  and  I  cannot  bear  the  notion  of  quitting  the  country  without 
a  kind  word  of  farewell  from  you." 

" She  won't  recognise  my  style  in  that"  said  Becky.  " I  made 
the  sentences  short  and  brisk  on  purpose."  And  this  authentic 
missive  was  despatched  under  cover  to  Miss  Briggs. 

Old  Miss  Crawley  laughed  when  Briggs,  with  great  mystery, 
handed  her  over  this  candid  and  simple  statement.  *'  We  may  read 
it  now  Mrs.  Bute  is  away,"  she  said.     "  Read  it  to  me,  Briggs." 

When  Briggs  had  read  the  epistle  out,  her  patroness  laughed 
more.  "  Don't  you  see,  you  goose,"  she  said  to  Briggs,  who  professed 
to  be  much  touched  by  the  honest  affection  which  pervaded  the  com- 
position, "don't  you  see  that  Rawdon  never  wrote  a  word  of  it? 
He  never  wrote  to  me  without  asking  for  money  in  his  life,  and  all 
his  letters  are  full  of  bad  spelling,  and  dashes,  and  bad  grammar. 
It  is  that  little  serpent  of  a  governess  who  rules  him."  They  are  all 
alike.  Miss  Crawley  thought  in  her  heart.  They  all  want  me  dead, 
and  are  hankering  for  my  money. 

"  I  don't  mind  seeing  Rawdon,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  and  in 
a  tone  of  perfect  indifference.  "  I  had  just  as  soon  shake  hands 
with  him  as  not.  Provided  there  is  no  scene,  why  shouldn't  we 
meet?  I  don't  mind.  But  human  patience  has  its  limits;  and 
mind,  my  dear,  I  respectfully  decline  to  receive  Mrs.  Rawdon — I 
can't  support  that  quite  " — and  Miss  Briggs  was  fain  to  be  content 
with  this  half-message  of  conciliation ;  and  thought  that  the  best 
method  of  bringing  the  old  lady  and  her  nephew  together,  was  to 
warn  Rawdon  to  be  in  waiting  on  the  Cliff,  when  Miss  Crawley 
went  out  for  her  air  in  her  chair. 

There  they  met.  I  don't  know  whether  Miss  Crawley  had  any 
private  feeling  of  regard  or  emotion  upon  seeing  her  old  favourite  ; 
but  she  held  out  a  couple  of  fingers  to  him  with  as  smiling  and  good- 
humoured  an  air,  as  if  they  had  met  only  the  day  before.  And  as 
for  Rawdon,  he  turned  as  red  as  scarlet,  and  wrung  off  Briggs's  hand, 
so  great  was  his  rapture  and  his  confusion  at  the  meeting.  Perhaps 
it  was  interest  that  moved  him :  or  perhaps  affection :  perhaps  he 
was  touched  by  the  change  which  the  illness  of  the  last  weeks  had 
wrought  in  his  aunt. 

"  The  old  girl  has  always  acted  like  a  trump  to  me,"  he  said  to 
his  wife,  as  he  narrated  the  interview,  "  and  I  felt,  you  know,  rather 
queer,  and  that  sort  of  thing.     I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  what- 


\^ 


146  Vanity  fair 

dy'e-call-'em,  you  know,  and  to  her  own  door,  where  Bowls  came  to 
help  her  in.     And  I  wanted  to  go  in  very  much,  only " 

"  You  didn't  go  in,  Rawdon  ! "  screamed  his  wife. 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I'm  hanged  if  I  wasn't  afraid  when  it  came  to 
the  point." 

"  You  fool !  you  ought  to  have  gone  in,  and  never  come  out 
again,"  Rebecca  said. 

"Don't  call  me  names,"  said  the  big  Guardsman  sulkily. 
"  Perhaps  I  was  a  fool,  Becky,  but  you  shouldn't  say  so ; "  and  he 
gave  his  wife  a  look,  such  as  his  countenance  could  wear  when 
angered,  and  such  as  was  not  pleasant  to  face. 

"  Well,  dearest,  to-morrow  you  must  be  on  the  look-out,  and  go 
and  see  her,  mind,  whether  she  asks  you  or  no,"  Rebecca  said,  trying 
to  soothe  her  angry  yoke-mate.  On  which  he  replied,  that  he  would 
do  exactly  as  he  liked,  and  would  just  thank  her  to  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  her  head — and  the  wounded  husband  went  away,  and 
passed  the  forenoon  at  the  billiard-room,  sulky,  silent,  and  suspicious. 

But  before  the  night  was  over  he  was  compelled  to  give  in,  and 
own,  as  usual,  to  his  wife's  superior  prudence  and  foresight,  by  the 
most  melancholy  confirmation  of  the  presentiments  which  she  had 
regarding  the  consequences  of  the  mistake  which  he  had  made.  Miss 
Crawley  must  have  had  some  emotion  upon  seeing  him  and  shaking 
hands  with  him  after  so  long  a  rupture.  She  mused  upon  the 
meeting  a  considerable  time.  "  Rawdon  is  getting  very  fat  and  old, 
Briggs,"  she  said  to  her  companion.  "His  nose  has  become  red, 
and  he  is  exceedingly  coarse  in  appearance.  His  marriage  to  that 
woman  has  hopelessly  vulgarised  him.  Mrs.  Bute  always  said  they 
drank  together ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  they  do.  Yes :  he  smelt  of 
gin  abominably.     I  remarked  it.     Didn't  you  1 " 

In  vain  Briggs  interposed  that  Mrs.  Bute  spoke  ill  of  every- 
body :  and,  as  far  as  a  person  in  her  humble  position  could  judge, 
was  an 

"An  artful  designing  woman?  Yes,  so  she  is,  and  she  does 
speak  ill  of  every  one, — but  I  am  certain  that  woman  has  made 
Rawdon  drink.     All  those  low  people  do " 

"He  was  very  much  affected  at  seeing  you,  ma'am,"  the  com- 
panion said ;  "  and  I  am  sure,  when  you  remember  that  he  is  going 
to  the  field  of  danger " 

"How  much  money  has  he  promised  you,  Briggs V  the  old 
spinster  cried  out,  working  herself  into  a  nervous  rage — "  there  now, 
of  course  you  begin  to  cry.  I  hate  scenes.  Why  am  I  always  to 
be  worried  1  Go  and  cry  up  in  your  own  room,  and  send  Firkin  to 
me  — no,  stop,  sit  down  and  blow  your  nose,  and  leave  off  crying, 


A  NOTEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  241 

and  write  a  letter  to  Captain  Crawley."  Poor  Briggs  went  and 
placed  herself  obediently  at  the  writing-book.  Its  leaves  were  blotted 
all  over  with  relics  of  the  firm,  strong,  rapid  handwriting  of  the 
spinster's  late  amanuensis,  Mrs.  Birte  Crawley, 

"  Begin  '  My  dear  sir,'  or  ^  Dear  sir,'  that  will  be  better,  and  say 
you  are  desired  by  Miss  Crawley — no,  by  Miss  Crawley's  medical 
man,  by  Mr.  Creamer,  to  state,  that  my  health  is  such  that  all  strong 
emotions  would  be  dangerous  in  my  present  delicate  condition — and 
that  I  must  decline  any  family  discussions  or  interviews  whatever. 
And  thank  him  for  coming  to  Brighton,  and  so  forth,  and  beg  him 
not  to  stay  any  longer  on  my  account.  And,  Miss  Briggs,  you  may 
add  that  I  wish  him  a  bon  voyage,  and  that  if  he  will  take  the 
trouble  to  call  upon  my  lawyer's  in  Gray's  Inn  Square,  he  will  find 
there  a  communication  for  him.  Yes,  that  will  do ;  and  that  will 
make  him  leave  Brighton."  The  benevolent  Briggs  penned  this 
sentence  with  the  utmost  satisfaction. 

"  To  seize  upon  me  the  very  day  after  Mrs.  Bute  was  gone,"  the 
old  lady  prattled  on ;  "  it  was  too  indecent.  Briggs,  my  dear,  write 
to  Mrs.  Crawley,  and  say  she  needn't  come  back.  No — she  needn't 
— and  she  shan't — and  I  won't  be  a  slave  in  my  own  house — and  I 
won't  be  starved  a-nd  choked  with  poison.  They  all  want  to  kill 
me — all — all " — and  with  this  the  lonely  old  woman  burst  into  a 
scream  of  hysterical  tears. 

The  last  scene  of  her  dismal  Vanity  Fair  comedy  was  fast  ap- 
proaching; the  tawdry  lamps  were  going  out  one  by  one;  and  the 
dark  curtain  was  almost  ready  to  descend. 

That  final  paragraph  which  refen-ed  Rawdon  to  Miss  Crawley's 
solicitor  in  London,  and  which  Briggs  had  written  so  good-naturedly, 
consoled  the  dragoon  and  his  wife  somewhat,  after  their  first  blank 
disappointment,  on  reading  the  spinster's  refusal  of  a  reconciliation. 
And  it  eff'ected  the  purpose  for  which  the  old  lady  had  caused  it  to 
be  written,  by  making  Rawdon  very  eager  to  get  to  London. 

Out  of  Jos's  losings  and  George  Osborne's  bank-notes,  he  paid 
his  bill  at  the  inn,  the  landlord  whereof  does  not  probably  know  to 
this  day  how  doubtfully  his  account  once  stood.  For,  as  a  general 
sends  his  baggage  to  the  rear  before  an  action,  Rebecca  had  wisely 
packed  up  all  their  chief  valuables  and  sent  them  off  under  care  of 
George's  servant,  who  went  in  charge  of  the  trunks  on  the  coach 
back  to  London.  Rawdon  and  his  wife  returned  by  the  same 
conveyance  next  day. 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  see  the  old  girl  before  we  went,"  Rawdon 
said.  "  She  looks  so  cut  up  and  altered  that  I'm  sure  she  can't  last 
long.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  cheque  I  shall  have  at  Waxy's. 
Two  hundred — it  can't  be  less  than  two  hundred, — hey,  Becky  ? " 


242  VANITY    FAIR 

In  consequence  of  the  repeated  visits  of  the  aides-de-camp  of  the 
Sheriff  of  Middlesex,  Rawdon  and  his  wife  did  not  go  back  to  their 
lodgings  at  Brompton,  but  put  up  at  an  inn.  Early  the  next  morn- 
ing, Rebecca  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  them  as  she  skirted  that 
suburb  on  her  road  to  old  Mrs.  Sedley's  house  at  Fulham,  whither 
she  went  to-  look  for  her  dear  Amelia  and  her  Brighton  friends. 
They  were  all  off  to  Chatham,  thence  to  Harwich,  to  take  shipping 
for  Belgium  with  the  regiment — kind  old  Mrs.  Sedley  very  much 
depressed  and  tearful,  solitary.  Returning  from  this  visit,  Rebecca 
found  her  husband,  who  had  been  off  to  Gray's  Inn,  and  learnt  his 
fate.     He  came  back  furious. 

"  By  Jove,  Becky,"  says  he,  "she's  only  given  me  twenty  pound !" 
Though  it  told  against  themselves,  the  joke  was  too  good,  and 
Becky  burst  out  laughing  at  Rawdon's  discomfiture. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BETWEEN  LONDON  AND  CHATHAM 

ON  quitting  Brighton,  our  friend  George,  as  became  a  person  of 
rank  and  fashion  travelling  in  a  barouche  with  four  horses, 
drove  in  state  to  a  fine  hotel  in  Cavendish  Square,  where  a 
suite  of  splendid  rooms,  and  a  table  magnificently  furnished  with  plate 
and  surrounded  by  a  half-dozen  of  black  and  silent  waiters,  was  ready 
to  receive  the  young  gentleman  and  his  bride.  George  did  the  honours 
of  the  place  with  a  princely  air  to  Jos  and  Dobbin ;  and  Amelia,  for 
the  first  time,  and  with  exceeding  shyness  and  timidity,  presided  at 
what  George  called  her  own  table. 

George  pooh-poohed  the  ^^ine  and  bullied  the  waiters  royally,  and 
Jos  gobbled  the  turtle  with  immense  satisfaction,  Dobbin  helped  him 
to  it ;  for  the  lady  of  the  house,  before  whom  the  tureen  was  placed, 
was  so  ignorant  of  the  contents,  that  she  was  going  to  help  Mro  Sedley 
without  bestowing  upon  him  either  calipash  or  calipee. 

The  splendour  of  the  entertainment,  and  the  apartments  in  which 
it  was  given,  alarmed  Mr.  Dobbin,  who  remonstrated  after  dinner, 
when  Jos  was  asleep  in  the  great  chair.  But  in  vain  he  cried  out 
against  the  enormity  of  turtle  and  champagne  that  was  fit  for  an 
archbishop,  "  I've  always  been  accustomed  to  travel  like  a  gentle- 
man," George  said,  "and,  damme,  my  wife  shall  travel  like  a  lady. 
As  long  as  there's  a  shot  in  the  locker,  she  shall  want  for  nothing," 
said  the  generous  fellow,  quite  pleased  with  himself  for  his  magnifi- 
cence of  spirit-  Nor  did  Dobbin  try  and  convince  him  that  Amelia's 
happiness  was  not  centred  in  tiu-tle-soup. 

A  while  after  dinner,  Amelia  timidly  expressed  a  wish  to  go  and 
see  her  mamma,  at  Fulhani  i  which  permission  George  granted  her 
with  some  grumbling.  And  she  tripped  away  to  her  enormous  bed- 
room, in  the  centre  of  which  stood  the  enormous  funereal  bed,  ''that 
the  Emperor  Halixander's  sister  slep  in  when  the  allied  sufferings  was 
here,"  and  put  on  her  little  bonnet  and  shawl  with  the  utmost  eager- 
ness and  pleasure.  George  was  still  drinking  claret  when  she  returned 
to  the  dining-room,  and  made  no  signs  of  moving.  "  Ar'n't  you  coming 
with  me,  dearest  1 "  she  asked  him.  No ;  the  "  dearest "  had  "  busi- 
ness "  that  night.     His  man  should  get  her  a  coach  and  go  with  her. 


244  VANITY    FAIR 

And  the  coach  being  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  Ameha  made  Greorge  a 
little  disappointed  curtsey  after  looking  vainly  into  his  face  once  or 
twice,  and  went  sadly  down  the  great  staircase.  Captain  Dobbin  after, 
who  handed  her  into  the  vehicle,  and  saw  it  drive  away  to  its  desti- 
nation. The  very  valet  was  ashamed  of  mentioning  the  address 
to  the  hackney-coachman  before  the  hotel  waiters,  and  promised  to 
instruct  him  when  they  got  further  on. 

Dobbin  walked  home  to  his  old  quarters  at  the  Slaughters',  think- 
ing very  likely  that  it  would  be  delightful  to  be  in  that  hackney-coach, 
along  with  Mrs.  Osborne.  George  was  evidently  of  quite  a  different 
taste ;  for  when  he  had  taken  wine  enough,  he  went  off  to  half-price 
at  the  play,  to  see  Mr.  Kean  perform  in  Shylock.  Captain  Osborne 
was  a  great  lover  of  the  drama,  and  had  himself  performed  high- 
comedy  characters  with  great  distinction  in  several  garrison  theatrical 
entertainments.  Jos  slept  on  until  long  after  dark,  when  he  woke 
up  with  a  start  at  the  motions  of  his  servant,  who  was  removing 
and  emptying  the  decanters  on  the  table;  and  the  hackney-coach 
stand  was  again  put  into  requisition  for  a  carriage  to  convey  this 
stout  hero  to  his  lodgings  and  bed. 

Mrs.  Sedley,  you  may  be  sure,  clasped  her  daughter  to  her  heart 
with  all  maternal  eagerness  and  affection,  running  out  of  the  door  as 
the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  little  garden-gate,  to  welcome  the 
weeping,  trembling  young  bride,  Old  Mr.  Clapp,  who  was  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  trimming  the  garden-plot,  shrank  back  alarmed.  The 
Irish  servant-lass  rushed  up  from  the  kitchen  and  smiled  a  "God 
bless  you."  Amelia  could  hardly  walk  along  the  flags  and  up  the 
steps  into  the  parlour. 

How  the  floodgates  were  opened,  and  mother  and  daughter  wept, 
when  they  were  together  embracing  each  other  in  this  sanctuary,  may 
readily  be  imagined  by  every  reader  who  possesses  the  least  senti- 
mental turn.  When  don't  ladies  weep  1  At  what  occasion  of  joy, 
sorrow,  or  other  business  of  life  1  and,  after  such  an  event  as  a  marriage, 
mother  and  daughter  were  surely  at  liberty  to  give  way  to  a  sensibility 
which  is  as  tender  as  it  is  refreshing.  About  a  question  of  marriage 
I  have  seen  women  who  hate  each  other  kiss  and  cry  together  quite 
fondly.  How  much  more  do  they  feel  when  they  love !  Good 
mothers  are  married  over  again  at  their  daughters'  weddings  :  and  as 
for  subsequent  events,  who  does  not  know  how  ultra-maternal  grand- 
mothers are  ? — in  fact  a  woman,  until  she  is  a  grandmother,  does  not 
often  really  know  what  to  be  a  mother  is.  Let  us  respect  Amelia  and 
her  mamma  whispering  and  whimpering  and  laughing  and  crying  in 
the  parlour  and  the  twihght.  Old  Mr.  Sedley  did.  He  had  not 
divined  who  was  in  the  carriage  when  it  drove  up.     He  had  not 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  245 

flown  out  to  meet  his  daughter,  though  he  kissed  her  very  warmly 
when  she  entered  the  room  (where  he  was  occupied,  as  usual,  with 
his  papers  and  tapes  and  statements  of  accounts),  and  after  sitting 
with  the  mother  and  daughter  for  a  short  time,  he  very  wisely  left 
the  little  apartment  in  their  possesion. 

George's  valet  was  looking  on  in  a  very  supercilious  manner  at 
Mr.  Clapp  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  watering  his  rose-bushes.  He  took  off 
his  hat,  however,  with  much  condescension  to  Mr.  Sedley,  who  asked 
news  about  his  son-in-law,  and  about  Jos's  carriage,  and  whether  his 
horses  had  been  down  to  Brighton,  and  about  that  infernal  traitor 
Bonaparty,  and  the  war ;  until  the  Irish  maid-servant  came  with  a 
plate  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  from  which  the  old  gentleman  insisted 
upon  helping  the  valet.  He  gave  him  a  half-guinea,  too,  which  the 
servant  pocketed  with  a  mixture  of  wonder  and  contempt.  "  To  the 
health  of  your  master  and  mistress.  Trotter,"  Mr.  Sedley  said,  "  and 
here's  something  to  drink  your  health  when  you  get  home.  Trotter." 

There  were  but  nine  days  past  since  Amelia  had  left  that  little 
cottage  and  home — and  yet  how  far  off  the  time  seemed  since  she  had 
bidden  it  farewell.  What  a  gulf  lay  between  her  and  that  past  life  ! 
She  could  look  back  to  it  from  her  present  standing-place,  and  con- 
template, almost  as  another  being,  the  young  unmarried  girl  absorbed 
in  her  love,  having  no  eyes  but  for  one  special  object,  receiving 
parental  affection  if  not  ungratefully,  at  least  indifferently,  and  as  if 
it  were  her  due — her  whole  heart  and  thoughts  bent  on  the  accom- 
plishment of  one  desire.  The  review  of  those  days,  so  lately  gone 
yet  so  far  away,  touched  her  with  shame ;  and  the  aspect  of  the  kind 
parents  filled  her  with  tender  remorse.  Was  the  prize  gained — the 
heaven  of  life — and  the  winner  still  doubtful  and  imsatisfied?  As 
his  hero  and  heroine  pass  the  matrimonial  barrier,  the  novelist 
generally  drops  the  curtain,  as  if  the  drama  were  over  then :  the 
doubts  and  struggles  of  life  ended  :  as  if,  once  landed  in  the  marriage 
country,  all  were  green  and  pleasant  there  :  and  wife  and  husband  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  link  each  other's  arms  together,  and  wander 
gently  downwards  towards  old  age  in  happy  and  perfect  fruition.  But 
our  little  Amelia  was  just  on  the  bank  of  her  new  country,  and  was 
already  looking  anxiously  back  towards  the  sad  friendly  figures  waving 
farewell  to  her  across  the  stream,  from  the  other  distant  shore. 

In  honour  of  the  young  bride's  arrival,  her  mother  thought  it 
necessary  to  prepare  I  don't  know  what  festive  entertainment,  and 
after  the  first  ebullition  of  talk,  took  leave  of  Mrs.  George  Osborne 
for  a  while,  and  dived  down  to  the  lower  regions  of  the  house  to  a 
sort  of  kitchen-parlour  (occupied  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clapp,  and  in  the 
evening,  when  her  dishes  were  washed  and  her  curl-papers  removed, 
by  Miss  Flannigan,  the  Irish  servant),  there  to  take  measures  for  the 


M  VANITY    FAlB 

preparing  of  a  magnificent  ornamented  tea.  All  people  have  their 
ways  of  expressing  kindness,  and  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Sedley  that  a 
muffin  and  a  quantity  of  orange  marmalade  spread  out  in  a  little  cut- 
glass  saucer  would  be  peculiarly  agreeable  refreshments  to  Amelia  in 
her  most  interesting  situation, 

While  these  delicacies  were  being  transacted  below,  Amelia,  leaving 
the  drawing-room,  walked  upstairs  and  found  herself,  she  scarce  knew 
how,  in  the  little  room  which  she  had  occupied  before  her  marriage, 
and  in  that  very  chair  in  which  she  had  passed  so  many  bitter  hours. 
She  sank  back  in  its  arms  as  if  it  were  an  old  friend ;  and  fell  to 
thinking  over  the  past  week,  and  the  life  beyond  it.  Already  to  be 
looking  sadly  and  vaguely  back  :  always  to  be  pining  for  something 
which,  when  obtained,  brought  doubt  and  sadness  rather  than  plea- 
sure; here  was  the  lot  of  our  poor  little  creature,  and  harmless  lost 
wanderer  in  the  great  struggling  crowds  of  Vanity  Fair. 

Here  she  sate,  and  recalled  to  herself  fondly  that  image  of  George 
r^to  which  she  had  knelt  before  marriage.  Did  she  own  to  herself  how 
different  the  real  man  was  from  that  superb  young  hero  whom  she 
had  worshipped  1  It  requires  many,  many.,  years — ^and  a  man  must 
be  very  bad  indeed — before  a  woman's  pride  and  vanity  will  let  her 
own  to  such  a  confession.  Then  Rebecca's  twinkling  green  eyes  and 
baleful  smile  lighted  upon  her,  and  filled  her  with  dismay.  And  so 
she  sate  for  a  while  indulging  in  her  usual  mood  of  selfish  brooding,^ 
in  that  very  listless  melancholy  attitude  in  which  the  honest  maid- 
servant had  found  her,  on  the  day  when  she  brought  up  the  letter  in 
which  George  renewed  his  offer  of  marriage. 

She  looked  at  the  little  white  bed,  which  had  been  hers  a  few 
days  before,  and  thought  she  would  like  to  sleep  in  it  that  night,  and 
wake,  as  formerly,  with  her  mother  smiling  over  her  in  the  morning. 
Then  she  thought  with  terror  of  the  great  funereal  damask  pavilion 
in  the  vast  and  dingy  state  bed-room,  which  was  awaiting  her  at  the 
grand  hotel  in  Cavendish  Square.  Dear  little  white  bed  !  how  many 
u  long  night  had  she  wept  on  its  pillow !  How  had  she  despaired 
and  hoped  to  die  there ;  and  now  were  not  all  her  wishes  accom- 
plished, and  the  lover  of  whom  she  had  despaired  her  own  for  ever  % 
Kind  mother  !  how  patiently  and  tenderly  had  she  watched  round 
that  bed  !  She  went  and  knelt  down  by  the  bedside ;  and  there  this 
wounded  and  timorous,  but  gentle  and  loving  soul,  sought  for  conso- 
lation,  where  as  yet,  it  must  be  owned,  our  little  girl  had  but  seldom 
Mj  looked  for  it.  Love  had  been  her  faith  hitherto ;  and  the  sad,  bleed- 
rll  ing  disappointed  heart  began  to  feel  the  want  of  another  consoler. 

Have  we  a  right  to  repeat  or  to  overhear  hef  pTSyefsT^^hese, 
brother,  are  secrets,  and  out  of  the  domain  of  Vanity  Fair,  in  which 
our  story  lies. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  I47 

But  this  may  be  said,  that  when  the  tea  was  finally  announced, 
our  young  lady  came  downstairs  a  great  deal  more  cheerful ;  that 
she  did  not  despond,  or  deplore  her  fate,  or  think  about  George's 
coldness,  or  Rebecca's  eyes,  as  she  ^ad  been  wont  to  do  of  late.  She 
went  downstairs,  and  kissed  her  father  and  mother,  and  talked  to 
the  old  gentleman,  and  made  him  more  merry  than  he  had  been  for 
many  a  day.  She  sate  down  at  the  piano  which  Dobbin  had  bought 
for  her,  and  sang  over  all  her  father's  favourite  old  songs.  She  pro- 
nounced the  tea  to  be  excellent,  and  praised  the  exquisite  taste  in 
which  the  marmalade  was  arranged  in  the  saucers.  And  in  deter- 
mining to  make  everybody  else  happy,  she  found  herself  so;  and 
was  sound  asleep  in  the  great  funereal  pavilion,  and  only  woke  up 
with  a  smile  when  George  arrived  from  the  theatre. 

For  the  next  day,  George  had  more  important  "business"  to 
transact  than  that  which  took  him  to  see  Mr.  Kean  in  Shylock. 
Immediately  on  his  arrival  in  London  he  had  written  off  to  his 
father's  solicitors,  signifying  his  royal  pleasure  that  an  interview 
should  take  place  between  them  on  the  morrow.  His  hotel  bill, 
losses  at  billiards  and  cards  to  Captain  Crawley  had  almost  drained 
the  young  man's  purse,  which  wanted  replenishing  before  he  set  out 
on  his  travels,  and  he  had  no  resource  but  to  infringe  upon  the  two 
thousand  pounds  which  the  attorneys  were  commissioned  to  pay  over 
to  him.  He  had  a  perfect  belief  in  his  own  mind  that  his  father 
would  relent  before  very  long.  How  could  any  parent  be  obdurate 
for  a  length  of  time  against  such  a  paragon  as  he  was  ?  If  his  mere 
past  and  personal  merits  did  not  succeed  in  mollifying  his  father, 
George  determined  that  he  would  distinguish  himself  so  prodigiously 
in  the  ensuing  campaign  that  the  old  gentleman  must  give  in  to 
him.  And  if  not  1  Bah  !  the  world  was  before  him.  His  luck 
might  change  at  cards,  and  there  was  a  deal  of  spending  in  two 
thousand  pounds. 

So  he  sent  off  Amelia  once  more  in  a  carriage  to  her  mamma, 
with  strict  orders  and  carte  blanche  to  the  two  ladies  to  purchase 
everything  requisite  for  a  lady  of  Mrs.  George  Osborne's  fashion,  who 
was  going  on  a  foreign  tour.  They  had  but  one  day  to  complete  the 
outfit,  and  it  may  be  imagined  that  their  business  therefore  occupied 
them  pretty  fully.  In  a  carriage  once  more,  bustling  about  from 
milliner  to  linen-draper,  escorted  back  to  the  carriage  by  obsequious 
shopmen  or  polite  owners,  Mrs.  Sedley  was  herself  again  almost,  and 
sincerely  happy  for  the  first  time  since  their  misfortunes.  Nor  was 
Mrs.  Amelia  at  all  above  the  pleasure  of  shopping,  and  bargaining, 
and  seeing  and  buying  pretty  things.  (Would  any  man,  the  most 
philosophic,  give  twopence  for  a  woman  who  was  1)  She  gave  her- 
self a  little  treat,  obedient  to  her  husband's  orders,  and  purchased  a 


I 


248  VANITY    FAIR 

quantity  of  lady's  gear,  showing  a  great  deal  of  taste  and  elegant 
discernment,  as  all  the  shop-folks  said. 

And  about  the  war  that  was  ensuing,  Mrs.  Osborne  was  not  much 

alarmed ;  Bonaparty  was  to  be  crushed  almost  without  a  struggle. 

Margate  packets  were  sailing  every  day,  filled  with  men  of  fashion 

and  ladies  of  note,  on  their  way  to  Brussels  and  Ghent.     People 

were  going  not  so  much  to  a  war  as  to  a  fashionable  tour.     The 

newspapers  laughed  the  wretched  upstart  and  swindler  to  scorn. 

Such  a  Corsican  wretch  as  that  withstand  the  armies  of  Europe  and 

the  genius  of  the  immortal  Wellington  !     Amelia  held  him  in  utter 

I  contempt ;  for  it  needs  not  to  be  said  that  this  soft  and  gentle  crea- 

I  ture  took  her  opinions  from  those  people  who  surrounded  her,  such 

j  fidelity  being  much  too  humble-minded  to  think  for  itself.     Well,  in 

a  word,  she  and  her  mother  performed  a  great  day's  shopping,  and 

she  acquitted  herself  with  considerable  liveliness  and  credit  on  this 

her  first  appearance  in  the  genteel  world  of  London. 

George  meanwhile,  with  his  hat  on  one  side,  his  elbows  squared, 
and  his  swaggering  martial  air,  made  for  Bedford  Row,  and  stalked 
into  the  attorney's  offices  as  if  he  was  lord  of  every  pale-faced  clerk 
who  was  scribbling  there.  He  ordered  somebody  to  inform  Mr, 
Higgs  that  Captain  Osborne  was  waiting,  in  a  fierce  and  patronising 
way,  as  if  the  pekin  of  an  attorney,  who  had  thrice  his  brains,  fifty 
times  his  money,  and  a  thousand  times  his  experience,  was  a  wretched 
underling  who  should  instantly  leave  all  his  business  in  life  to  attend 
on  the  Captain's  pleasure.  He  did  not  see  the  sneer  of  contempt 
which  passed  all  round  the  room,  from  the  first  clerk  to  the  articled 
gents,  from  the  articled  gents  to  the  ragged  writers  and  white-faced 
runners,  in  clothes  too  tight  for  them,  as  he  sate  there  tapping  his 
boot  with  his  cane,  and  thinking  what  a  parcel  of  miserable  poor 
devils  these  were.  The  miserable  poor  devils  knew  all  about  his 
affairs.  They  talked  about  them  over  their  pints  of  beer  at  their 
public-house  clubs  to  other  clerks  of  a  night.  Ye  gods,  what  do  not 
attorneys  and  attorneys'  clerks  know  in  London  !  Nothing  is  hidden 
from  their  inquisition,  and  their  familiars  mutely  rule  our  city, 

iPerhaps  George  expected,  when  he  entered  Mr.  Higgs's  apart- 
ment, to  find  that  gentleman  commissioned  to  give  him  some  message 
of  compromise  or  conciliation  from  his  father ;  perhaps  his  haughty 
and  cold  demeanour  was  adopted  as  a  sign  of  his  spirit  and  resolu- 
tion :  but  if  so,  his  fierceness  was  met  by  a  chilling  coolness  and  in- 
difference on  the  attorney's  part,  that  rendered  swaggering  absurd. 
He  pretended  to  be  writing  at  a  paper,  when  the  Captain  entered. 
"  Pray,  sit  down,  sir,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will  attend  to  your  little  affair 
in  a  moment.  Mr.  Poe,  get  the  release  papers,  if  you  please ; "  and 
then  he  fell  to  writing  again. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  249 

Poe  having  produced  those  papers,  his  chief  calculated  the  amomit 
of  two  thousand  pounds  stock  at  the  rate  of  the  day ;  and  asked 
Captain  Osborne  whether  he  would  take  the  sum  in  a  cheque  upon 
the  bankers,  or  whether  he  should  direct  the  latter  to  purchase  stock 
to  that  amount.  "  One  of  the  late  Mrs.  Osborne's  trustees  is  out  of 
town,"  he  said  indiflferently,  "but  my  client  wishes  to  meet  your 
wishes,  and  have  done  with  the  business  as  quick  as  possible." 

"  Give  me  a  cheque,  sir,"  said  the  Captain  very  surlily,  "  Damn 
the  shillings  and  halfpence,  sir,"  he  added,  as  the  lawyer  was  making 
ou6  the  amount  of  the  draft ;  and,  flattering  himself  that  by  this  stroke 
of  magnanimity  he  had  put  the  old  quiz  to  the  blush,  he  stalked  out 
of  the  office  with  the  paper  in  his  pocket. 

"That  chap  will  be  in  gaol  in  two  years,"  Mr.  Higgs  said  to 
Mr.  Poe. 

"  Won't  0.  come  round,  sir,  don't  you  think  ? " 

"  Won't  the  monument  come  round,"  Mr.  Higgs  replied. 

"  He's  going  it  pretty  fast,"  said  the  clerk.     "  He's  only  married 
a  week,  and  I  saw  him  and  some  other  military  chaps  handing  Mrs.   ^ 
Highflyer  to  her  carriage  after  the  play."     And  then  another  case 
was  called,  and  Mr.  George  Osborne  thenceforth  dismissed  from  these 
worthy  gentlemen's  memory. 

The  draft  was  upon  our  friends  Hulker  &  Bullock,  of  Lombard 
Street,  to  whose  house,  still  thinking  he  was  doing  business,  George 
bent  his  way,  and  from  whom  he  received  his  money.  Frederick 
Bullock,  Esq.,  whose  yellow  face  was  over  a  ledger,  at  which  sate  a 
demure  clerk,  happened  to  be  in  the  banking-room  when  George 
entered.  His  yellow  face  turned  to  a  more  deadly  colour  when  he 
saw  the  Captain,  and  he  slunk  back  guiltily  into  the  inmost  parlour. 
George  was  too  busy  gloating  over  the  money  (for  he  had  never  had 
such  a  sum  before),  to  mark  the  countenance  or  flight  of  the  cada- 
verous suitor  of  his  sister. 

Fred  Bullock  told  old  Osborne  of  his  son's  appearance  and  conduct. 
"  He  came  in  as  bold  as  brass,"  said  Frederick.  "  He  has  drawn  out 
every  shilling.  How  long  will  a  few  hundred  pounds  last  such  a  chap 
as  that  1 "  Osborne  swore  with  a  great  oath  that  he  little  cared  when 
or  how  soon  he  spent  it.  Fred  dined  every  day  in  Russell  Square 
now.  But  altogether,  George  was  highly  pleased  with  his  day's 
business.  All  his  own  baggage  and  outfit  was  put  into  a  state  of 
speedy  preparation,  and  he  paid  Amelia's  purchases  with  cheques  on 
liis  agents,  and  with  the  splendour  of  a  lord. 

20 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  WHICH  AMELIA  JOINS  HER  REGIMENT 

WHEN  Jos's  fine  carriage  drove  up  to  the  inn  door  at  Chatham, 
the  first  face  which  Amelia  recognised  was  the  friendly 
countenance  of  Captain  Dobbin,  who  had  been  pacing  the 
street  for  an  hour  past  in  expectation  of  his  friends'  anival.  The 
Captain,  with  shells  on  his  frock-coat,  and  a  crimson  sash  and  sabre, 
presented  a  military  appearance,  which  made  Jos  quite  proud  to  be 
able  to  claim  such  an  acquaintance,  and  the  stout  civilian  hailed  him 
with  a  cordiality  very  different  from  the  reception  which  Jos  vouch- 
safed to  his  friend  in  Brighton  and  Bond  Street. 

Along  with  the  Captain  was  Ensign  Stubble ;  who,  as  the  barouche 
neared  the  inn,  burst  out  with  an  exclamation  of  "  By  Jove  !  what  a 
pretty  girl ! "  highly  applauding  Osborne's  choice.  Indeed,  Amelia 
dressed  in  her  wedding-pelisse  and  pink  ribbons,  with  a  flush  in  her 
face,  occasioned  by  rapid  travel  through  the  open  air,  looked  so  fresh 
and  pretty,  as  fully  to  justify  the  Ensign's  compliment.  Dobbin  liked 
him  for  making  it.  As  he  stepped  forward  to  help  the  lady  out  of 
the  carriage.  Stubble  saw  what  a  pretty  little  hand  she  gave  him,  and 
what  a  sweet  pretty  little  foot  came  tripping  down  the  step.  He 
blushed  profusely,  and  made  the  very  best  bow  of  which  he  was 
capable ;  to  which  Amelia,  seeing  the  number  of  the  — th  regiment 
embroidered  on  the  Ensign's  cap,  replied  with  a  blushing  smile,  and  a 
curtsey  on  her  part ;  which  finished  the  young  Ensign  on  the  spot. 
Dobbin  took  most  kindly  to  Mr.  Stubble  from  that  day,  and  encouraged 
him  to  talk  about  Amelia  in  their  private  walks,  and  at  each  other's 
quarters.  It  became  the  fashion,  indeed,  among  all  the  honest  young 
fellows  of  the  — th  to  adore  and  admire  Mrs.  Osborne.  Her  simple 
artless  behaviour,  and  modest  kindness  of  demeanour,  won  all  their 
unsophisticated  hearts ;  all  which  simplicity  and  sweetness  are 
quite  impossible  to  describe  in  print.  But  who  has  not  beheld  these 
among  women,  and  recognised  the  presence  of  all  sorts  of  qualities 
in  them,  even  though  they  say  no  more  to  you  than  that  they  are 
engaged  to  dance  the  next  quadrille,  or  that  it  is  very  hot  weather  ? 
George,  always  the  champion  of  his  regiment,  rose  immensely  in  the 
opinion  of  the  youth  of  the  corps,  by  his  gallantry  in  marrying  this 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  251 

portionless  young  creature,  and  by  his  choice  of  such  a  pretty  kind 
partner. 

In  the  sitting-room  which  was  awaiting  the  travellers,  Amelia,  to 
her  surprise,  found  a  letter  addressed  to  Mrs.  Captain  Osborne.  It 
was  a  triangular  billet,  on  pink  paper,  and  sealed  with  a  dove  and  an 
olive  branch,  and  a  profusion  of  light-blue  sealing-wax,  and  it  was 
written  in  a  very  large,  though  undecided  female  hand. 

"  It's  Peggy  O'Dowd's  fist,"  said  George,  laughing.  "  I  know  it 
by  the  kisses  on  the  seal."  And  in  fact,  it  was  a  note  from  Mrs. 
Major  O'Dowd,  requesting  the  pleasure  of  Mrs.  Osborne's  company 
that  very  evening  to  a  small  friendly  party.  "  You  must  go,"  George 
said.  "You  will  make  acquaintance  with  the  regiment  there. 
O'Dowd  goes  in  command  of  the  regiment,  and  Peggy  goes  in  com- 
mand of  O'Dowd." 

But  they  had  not  been  for  many  minutes  in  the  enjoyment  of 
Mrs.  O'Dowd's  letter,  when  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  a  stout 
jolly  lady,  in  a  riding  habit,  followed  by  a  couple  of  officers  of  Ours, 
entered  the  room. 

*'  Sure,  I  couldn't  stop  till  tay-time.  Present  me,  Garge,  my  dear 
fellow,  to  your  lady.  Madam,  I'm  deloighted  to  see  ye ;  and  to  pre- 
sent to  you  me  husband,  Meejor  O'Dowd ; "  and  with  this,  the  jolly 
lady  in  the  riding-habit  grasped  Amelia's  hand  very  warmly,  and  the 
latter  knew  at  once  that  the  lady  was  before  her  whom  her  husband 
had  so  often  laughed  at.  "You've  often  heard  of  me  from  that 
husband  of  yours,"  said  the  lady,  with  great  vivacity. 

"  You've  often  heard  of  her,"  echoed  her  husband,  the  Major. 

Amelia  answered,  smiling,  "  that  she  had." 

"  And  small  good  he's  told  you  of  me,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  replied ; 
adding  that  "  George  was  a  wicked  divvle." 

"  That  I'll  go  bail  for,"  said  the  Major,  trying  to  look  knowing^ 
at  which  George  laughed ;  and  Mrs.  O'Dowd,  with  a  tap  of  her  whip, 
told  the  Major  to  be  quiet ;  and  then  requested  to  be  presented  in 
form  to  Mrs.  Captain  Osborne. 

"  This,  my  dear,"  said  George  with  great  gravity,  "  is  my  very 
good,  kind,  and  excellent  friend,  Auralia  Margaretta,  otherwise  called 
Peggy." 

"  Faith,  you're  right,"  interposed  the  Major. 

"  Otherwise  called  Peggy,  lady  of  Major  Michael  O'Dowd,  of  our 
regiment,  and  daughter  of  Fitzjurld  Ber'sford  de  Burgo  Malony  of 
Glenmalony,  County  Kildare." 

"And  Muryan  Squeer,  DobUn,"  said  the  lady  with  calm 
superiority. 

"  And  Muryan  Square,  sure  enough,"  the  Major  whispered. 

"  'Twas  there  ye  coorted  me,  Meejor  dear,"  the  lady  said ;  and 


1$!  VANITY    FAIR 

the  Major  assented  to  this  as  to  every  other  proposition  which  was 
made  generally  in  company. 

Major  O'Dowd,  who  had  served  his  sovereign  in  every  quarter  of 
the  world,  and  had  paid  for  every  step  in  his  profession  by  some  more 
than  equivalent  act  of  daring  and  gallantry,  was  the  most  modest, 
silent,  sheep-faced  and  meek  of  little  men,  and  as  obedient  to  his  wife 
as  if  he  had  been  her  tay-boy.  At  the  mess-table  he  sate  silently,  and 
drank  a  great  deal.  When  full  of  liquor,  he  reeled  silently  home. 
When  he  spoke,  it  was  to  agree  with  everybody  on  every  conceivable 
point ;  and  he  passed  through  life  in  perfect  ease  and  good-humour. 
The  hottest  suns  of  India  never  heated  his  temper ;  and  the  Wal- 
cheren  ague  never  shook  it.  He  walked  up  to  a  battery  with  just 
as  much  indifference  as  to  a  dinner-table ;  and  dined  on  horse-flesh 
and  turtle  with  equal  relish  and  appetite ;  and  had  an  old  mother, 
Mrs.  O'Dowd  of  O'Dowdstown  indeed,  whom  he  had  never  disobeyed 
but  when  he  ran  away  and  enlisted,  and  when  he  peraisted  in  marry- 
ing that  odious  Peggy  Malony. 

Peggy  was  one  of  five  sisters,  and  eleven  children  of  the  noble 
house  of  Glenmalony ;  but  her  husband,  though  her  own  cousin,  was 
of  the  mother's  side,  and  so  had  not  the  inestimable  advantage  of 
being  allied  to  the  Malonys,  whom  she  believed  to  be  the  most 
famous  family  in  the  world.  Having  tried  nine  seasons  at  Dublin 
and  two  at  Bath  and  Cheltenham,  and  not  finding  a  partner  for  life, 
Miss  Malony  ordered  her  cousin  Mick  to  marry  her  when  she  was 
about  thirty-three  years  of  age;  and  the  honest  fellow  obeying, 
carried  her  off"  to  the  West  Indies,  to  preside  over  the  ladies  of  the 
— th  regiment,  into  which  he  had  just  exchanged. 

Before  MrSc  O'Dowd  was  half-an-hour  in  Amelia's  (or  indeed  in 
anybody  else's)  company,  this  amiable  lady  told  all  her  birth  and 
pedigree  to  her  new  Mend.  '^  My  dear,"  said  she  good-naturedly, 
"it  was  my  intention  that  Garge  should  be  a  brother  of  my 
own,  and  my  sister  Glorvina  would  have  suited  him  entirelyo 
But  as  bygones  are  bygones,  and  he  was  engaged  to  yourself, 
why,  I'm  determined  to  take  you  as  a  sister  instead,  and  to  look 
upon  you  as  such,  and  to  love  you  as  one  of  the  family.  Faith, 
you've  got  such  a  nice  good-natured  face  and  way  widg  you,  that 
I'm  sure  we'll  agree ;  and  that  you'll  be  an  addition  to  our  family 
anyway." 

"  'Deed  and  she  will,"  said  O'Dowd,  with  an  approving  air,  and 
Amelia  felt  herself  not  a  little  amused  and  gratefiil  to  be  thus 
suddenly  introduced  to  so  large  a  party  of  relations. 

"We're  all  good  felbws  here,"  the  Major's  lady  continued. 
*  There's  not  a  regiment  in  the  service  where  you'll  find  a  more 
united  society  nor  a  more  agreeable  mess-room.     There's  no  quarrel- 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  253 

ling,  bickering,  slandthering,  nor  small  talk  amongst  us.  We  all 
love  each  other." 

"  Especially  Mrs.  Magenis,"  said  George,  laughing. 

"  Mrs.  Captain  Magenis  and  jne  has  made  up,  though  her  treat- 
ment of  me  would  bring  me  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

"And  you  with  such  a  beautiful  front  of  black,  Peggy,  my 
dear,"  the  Major  cried. 

"Hould  your  tongue,  Mick,  you  booby.  Them  husbands  are 
always  in  the  way,  Mrs.  Osborne,  my  dear ;  and  as  for  my  Mick,  I 
often  tell  him  he  should  never  open  his  mouth  but  to  give  the  word 
of  command,  or  to  put  meat  and  drink  into  it.  I'll  tell  you  about 
the  regiment,  and  warn  you  when  we're  alone.  Introduce  me  to 
your  brother  now ;  sure  he's  a  mighty  fine  man,  and  reminds  me  of 
me  cousin,  Dan  Malony  (Malony  of  Ballymalony,  my  dear,  you  know, 
who  mar'ied  Ophalia  Scully,  of  Oystherstown,  own  cousin  to  Lord 
Poldoody).  Mr.  Sedley,  sir,  I'm  deloighted  to  be  made  known  te 
ye.  I  suppose  you'll  dine  at  the  mess  to-day.  (Mind  that  divvle  of 
a  docther,  Mick,  and  whatever  ye  du,  keep  yourself  sober  for  me 
party  this  evening.)" 

"It's  the  150th  gives  us  a  farewell  dinner,  my  love,"  interposed 
the  Major,  "  but  we'll  easy  get  a  card  for  Mr.  Sedley." 

"Run,  Simple  (Ensign  Simple,  of  Ours,  my  dear  Amelia.  I 
forgot  to  introjuice  him  to  ye).  Run  in  a  hurry,  with  Mrs.  Major 
O'Dowd's  compliments  to  Colonel  Tavish,  and  Captain  Osborne  has 
brought  his  brothemlaw  down,  and  will  bring  him  to  the  150th  mess 
at  five  o'clock  sharp — when  you  and  I,  my  dear,  will  take  a  snack 
here,  if  you  like."  Before  Mrs.  O'Dowd's  speech  was  concluded, 
the  young  Ensign  was  trotting  downstairs  on  his  commission. 

"  Obedience  is  the  soul  of  the  army.  We  will  go  to  our  duty 
while  Mrs.  O'Dowd  will  stay  and  enlighten  you,  Emmy,"  Captain 
Osborne  said ;  and  the  two  gentlemen,  taking  each  a.  wing  of  the 
Major,  walked  out  with  that  officer,  grinning  at  each  other  over  his 
head. 

And,  now  having  her  new  friend  to  herself,  the  impetuous  Mrs. 
O'Dowd  proceeded  to  pour  out  such  a  quantity  of  information  as  no 
poor  little  woman's  memory  could  ever  tax  itself  to  bear.  She  told 
Amelia  a  thousand  particulars  relative  to  the  very  numerous  family 
of  which  the  amazed  young  lady  found  herself  a  member.  "  Mrs. 
Heavytop,  the  Colonel's  wife,  died  in  Jamaica  of  the  yellow  faver 
and  a  broken  heart  comboined,  for  the  horrud  old  Colonel,  with  a 
head  as  bald  as  a  cannon-ball,  was  making  sheep's  eyes  at  a  half- 
caste  girl  there.  Mrs.  Magenis,  though  without  education,  was  a 
good  woman,  but  she  had  the  divvle's  tongue,  and  would  cheat  her 
own  mother  at  whist.     Mrs.  Captain  Kirk  must  turn  up  her  lobster 


254  VANITY    FAIR 

eyes  forsooth  at  the  idea  of  an  honest  round  game  (wherein  me 
fawther,  as  pious  a  man  as  ever  went  to  church,  me  uncle  Dane 
Malony,  and  our  cousin  the  Bishop,  took  a  hand  at  loo,  or  whist, 
every  night  of  their  lives).  Nayther  of  'em's  goin'  with  the  regiment 
this  time,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  added.  "  Fanny  Magenis  stops  with  her 
mother,  who  sells  small  coal  and  potatoes,  most  likely  in  Islington- 
town,  hard  by  London,  though  she's  always  bragging  of  her  father's 
ships,  and  pointing  them  out  to  us  as  they  go  up  the  river :  and  Mrs. 
Kirk  and  her  children  will  stop  here  in  Bethesda  Place,  to  be  nigh 
to  her  favourite  preacher.  Dr.  Ramshorn.  Mrs,  Bunny's  in  an 
interesting  situation — faith,  and  she  always  is,  then — and  has  given 
the  Lieutenant  seven  already.  And  Ensign  Posky's  wife,  who  joined 
two  months  before  you,  my  dear,  has  quarl'd  with  Tom  Posky  a 
score  of  times,  till  you  can  hear  'm  all  over  the  bar'ck  (they  say 
they're  come  to  broken  pleets,  and  Tom  never  accounted  for  his 
black  oi),  and  she'll  go  back  to  her  mother,  who  keeps  a  ladies' 
siminary  at  Richmond, — bad  luck  to  her  for  running  away  from  it ! 
Where  did  ye  get  your  finishing,  my  dear?  I  had  moin,  and  no 
expince  spared,  at  Madame  Flanahan's,  at  Ilyssus  Grove,  Booters- 
town,  near  Dublin,  wid  a  Marchioness  to  teach  us  the  true  Parisian 
pronunciation,  and  a  retired  Mejor-General  of  the  French  service 
to  put  us  through  the  exercise." 

Of  this  incongruous  family  our  astonished  Amelia  found  herself 
all  of  a  sudden  a  member :  with  Mrs.  O'Dowd  as  an  elder  sister- 
She  was  presented  to  her  other  female  relations  at  tea-time,  on 
whom,  as  she  was  quiet,  good-natured,  and  not  too  handsome,  she 
made  rather  an  agreeable  impression  until  the  arrival  of  the  gentlemen 
from  the  mess  of  the  150th,  who  all  admired  her  so,  that  her  sisters 
began,  of  course,  to  find  fault  with  her. 

"  I  hope  Osborne  has  sown  his  wild-oats,"  said  Mrs.  Magenis  to 
Mrs.  Bunny.  "  If  a  reformed  rake  makes  a  good  husband,  sure  it's 
she  will  have  the  fine  chance  with  Garge,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  remarked 
to  Posky,  who  had  lost  her  position  as  bride  in  the  regiment,  and 
was  quite  angry  with  the  usurper.  And  as  for  Mrs.  Kirk :  that 
disciple  of  Dr.  Ramshorn  put  one  or  two  leading  professional  questions 
to  Amelia,  to  see  whether  she  was  awakened,  whether  she  was  a  pro- 
fessing Christian  and  so  forth,  and  finding  from  the  simplicity  of 
Mrs.  Osborne's  replies  that  she  was  yet  in  utter  darkness,  put  into 
her  hands  three  little  penny  books  with  pictures,  viz.,  the  "  Howling 
Wilderness,"  the  "Washerwoman  of  Finchley  Common,"  and  the 
"  British  Soldier's  best  Bayonet,"  which,  bent  upon  awakening  her 
before  she  slept,  Mrs.  Kirk  begged  Amelia  to  read  that  night  ere 
she  went  to  bed. 

But  all  the  men,  like  good  fellows  as  they  were,  rallied  round 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  255 

their  comrade's  pretty  wife,  and  paid  her  their  court  with  soldierly 
gallantry.  She  had  a  little  triumph,  which  flushed  her  spirits  and 
made  her  eyes  sparkle.  George  was  proud  of  her  popularity,  and 
pleased  with  the  manner  (which  was  very  gay  and  graceful,  though 
naive  and  a  little  timid)  with  which  she  received  the  gentlemen's 
attentions,  and  answered  their  compliments.  And  he  in  his  uniform — 
how  much  handsomer  he  was  than  any  man  in  the  room  !  She  felt 
that  he  was  affectionately  watching  her,  and  glowed  with  pleasure  at 
his  kindness.  "  I  will  make  all  his  friends  welcome,"  she  resolved 
in  her  heart.  "  I  will  love  all  as  I  love  him.  I  will  always  try  and 
be  gay  and  good-humoured  and  make  his  home  happy." 

The  regiment  indeed  adopted  her  with  acclamation.  The  Captains 
approved,  the  Lieutenants  applauded,  the  Ensigns  admired.  Old 
Cutler,  the  Doctor,  made  one  or  two  jokes,  which,  being  professional, 
need  not  be  repeated ;  and  Cackle,  the  Assistant  M.D.  of  Edinburgh, 
condescended  to  examine  her  upon  leeterature,  and  tried  her  with  his 
three  best  French  quotations.  Young  Stubble  went  about  from  man 
to  man  whispering,  "  Jove,  isn't  she  a  pretty  gal  1 "  and  never  took 
his  eyes  off  her  except  when  the  negus  came  in. 

As  for  Captain  Dobbin,  he  never  so  much  as  spoke  to  her  during 
the  whole  evening.  But  he  and  Captain  Porter  of  the  150th  took 
home  Jos  to  the  hotel,  who  was  in  a  very  maudlin  state,  and  had 
told  his  tiger-hunt  story  with  great  effect,  both  at  the  mess-table  and 
at  the  soi7'ee,  to  Mrs.  O'Dowd  in  her  turban  and  bird  of  paradise. 
Having  put  the  Collector  into  the  hands  of  his  servant,  Dobbin 
loitered  about,  smoking  his  cigar  before  the  inn  door.  George  had 
meanwhile  very  carefully  shawled  his  wife,  and  brought  her  away 
from  Mrs.  O'Dowd's  after  a  general  handshaking  from  the  young 
officers,  who  accompanied  her  to  the  fly,  and  cheered  that  vehicle  as 
it  drove  off.  So  Amelia  gave  Dobbin  her  little  hand  as  she  got  out 
of  the  carriage,  and  rebuked  him  smilingly  for  not  having  taken  any 
notice  of  her  all  night. 

The  Captain  continued  that  deleterious  amusement  of  smoking, 
long  after  the  inn  and  the  street  were  gone  to  bed.  He  watched 
the  lights  vanish  from  George's  sitting-room  windows,  and  shine  out 
in  the  bedroom  close  at  hand.  It  was  almost  morning  when  he  re-  \ 
turned  to  his  own  quartei-s.  He  could  hear  the  cheering  from  the  \ 
ships  in  the  river,  where  the  transports  were  already  taking  in  their  j 
targoes  preparatory  to  dropping  down  the  Thames. 


i  :^^ 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

IN  WHICH  AMELIA  INVADES   THE  LOW  COUNTRIES 

THE  regiment  with  its  officers  was  to  be  transported  in  ships 
provided  by  His  Majesty's  government  for  the  occasion :  and 
in  two  days  after  the  festive  assembly  at  Mrs.  O'Dowd's  apart- 
ments, in  the  midst  of  cheering  from  all  the  East  India  ships  in  the 
river,  and  the  military  on  shore,  the  band  playing  "  God  save  the 
King,"  the  officers  waving  their  hats,  and  the  crews  hurrahing 
gallantly,  the  transports  went  down  the  river  and  proceeded  under 
convoy  to  Ostend.  Meanwhile  the  gallant  Jos  had  agreed  to  escort 
his  sister  and  the  Major's  wife,  the  bulk  of  whose  goods  and  chattels, 
including  the  famous  bird  of  paradise  and  turban,  were  with  the 
regimental  baggage  :  so  that  our  two  heroines  drove  pretty  much  un- 
encumbered to  Ramsgate,  where  there  were  plenty  of  packets  plying, 
in.  one  of  which  they  had  a  speedy  passage  to  Ostend. 

That  period  of  Jos's  life  which  now  ensued  was  so  full  of  incident, 
that  it  served  him  for  conversation  for  many  years  after,  and  even  the 
tiger-hunt  story  was  put  aside  for  more  stirring  narratives  which  he 
had  to  tell  about  the  great  campaign  of  Waterloo.  As  soon  as  he 
had  agreed  to  escort  his  sister  abroad,  it  was  remarked  that  he 
ceased  shaving  his  upper  lip.  At  Chatham  he  followed  the  parades 
and  drills  with  great  assiduity.  He  listened  with  the  utmost  atten- 
tion to  the  conversation  of  his  brother  officers  (as  he  called  them  in 
after  days  sometimes),  and  learned  as  many  military  names  as  he 
could.  In  these  studies  the  excellent  Mrs.  O'Dowd  was  of  great  assist- 
ance to  him ;  and  on  the  day  finally  when  they  embarked  on  board 
the  Lovely  Rose,  which  was  to  carry  them  to  their  destination,  he 
made  his  appearance  in  a  braided  frock-coat  and  duck  trousers,  with 
a  foraging  cap  ornamented  with  a  smart  gold  band.  Having  his 
carriage  with  him,  and  informing  everybody  on  board  confidentially 
that  he  was  going  to  join  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  army,  folks 
mistook  him  for  a  great  personage,  a  commissary-general,  or  a 
government  courier  at  the  very  least. 

He  suffered  hugely  on  the  voyage,  during  which  the  ladies  were 
likewise  prostrate;  but  Amelia  was  brought  to  life  again  as  the 
packet  made  Ostend,  by  the  sight  of  the  transports  conveying  her 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO  257 

regiment,  which  entered  the  harbour  almost  at  the  same  time  with 
the  Lovely  Rose.  Jos  went  in  a  collapsed  state  to  an  inn,  while 
Captain  Dobbin  escorted  the  ladies,  and  then  busied  himself  in  free- 
ing Jos's  carriage  and  luggage  from  the  ship  and  the  custom-house, 
for  Mr.  Jos  was  at  present  without  a  servant,  Osborne's  man  and  his 
own  pampered  menial  having  conspired  together  at  Chatham,  and 
refused  point-blank  to  cross  the  water.  This  revolt,  which  came 
very  suddenly,  and  on  the  last  day,  so  alarmed  Mr.  Sedley,  junior, 
that  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  expedition,  but  Captain 
Dobbin  (who  made  himself  immensely  officious  in  the  business,  Jos 
said)  rated  him  and  laughed  at  him  soundly :  the  mustachios  were 
grown  in  advance,  and  Jos  finally  was  persuaded  to  embark.  In 
place  of  the  v/ell-bred  and  well-fed  London  domestics,  who  could 
only  speak  English,  Dobbin  procured  for  Jos's  party  a  swarthy 
little  Belgian  servant  who  could  speak  no  language  at  all;  but 
who,  by  his  bustling  behaviour,  and  by  invariably  addressing  Mr. 
Sedley  as  "My  lord,"  speedily  acquired  that  gentleman's  favour. 
Times  are  altered  at  Ostend  now ;  of  the  Britons  who  go  thither, 
very  few  look  like  lords,  or  act  like  those  members  of  our  heredi- 
tary aristocracy.  They  seem  for  the  most  part  shabby  in  attire, 
dingy  of  linen,  lovers  of  billiards  and  brandy,  and  cigars  and  greasy 
ordinaries. 

But  it  may  be  said  as  a  rule,  that  every  Englishman  in  the  Duke 
of  Wellington's  army  paid  his  way.  The  remembrance  of  such  a  fact 
surely  becomes  a  nation  of  shopkeepers.  It  was  a  blessing  for  a 
commerce-loving  country  to  be  overrun  by  such  an  army  of  customers  : 
and  to  have  such  creditable  warriors  to  feed.  And  the  country  which 
they  came  to  protect  is  not  military.  For  a  long  period  of  history 
they  have  let  other  people  fight  there.  When  the  present  writer 
went  to  survey  with  eagle  glance  the  field  of  Waterloo,  we  asked  the 
conductor  of  the  diligence,  a  portly  warlike-looking  veteran,  whether 
he  had  been  at  the  battle.  ^^ Pas  si  bete" — such  an  answer  and 
sentiment  as  no  Frenchman  would  own  to — was  his  reply.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  postillion  who  drove  us  was  a  Viscount,  a  son  of 
some  bankrupt  Imperial  General,  who  accepted  a  pennyworth  of  beer 
on  the  road.     The  moral  is  surely  a  good  one. 

This  flat,  flourishing,  easy  country  never  could  have  looked  more 
rich  and  prosperous  than  in  that  opening  summer  of  1815,  when  its 
green  fields  and  quiet  cities  were  enlivened  by  multiplied  red-coats  : 
when  its  wide  chaussees  swarmed  with  brilliant  English  equipages : 
when  its  great  canal-boats,  gliding  by  rich  pastures  and  pleasant 
quaint  old  villages,  by  old  chS,teaux  lying  amongst  old  trees,  were  all 
crowded  with  well-to-do  English  travellers :  when  the  soldier  who 
drank  at  the  village  inn,  not  only  drank,  but  paid  his  score;  and 


^58  VANITY   FAIR 

Donald,  the  Highlander,*  billeted  in  the  Flemish  farmhouse,  rocked 
the  baby's  cradle,  while  Jean  and  Jeannette  were  out  getting  in  the 
hay.  As  our  painters  are  bent  on  military  subjects  just  now,  I 
throw  out  this  as  a  good  subject  for  the  pencil,  to  illustrate  the 
principle  of  an  honest  English  war.  All  looked  as  brilliant  and 
harmless  as  a  Hyde  Park  review.  Meanwhile  Napoleon,  screened 
behind  his  curtain  of  frontier-fortresses,  was  preparing  for  the  out- 
break which  was  to  drive  all  these  orderly  people  into  fury  and 
blood  ;  and  lay  so  many  of  them  low. 

Everybody  had  such  a  perfect  feeling  of  confidence  in  the  leader 
(for  the  resolute  faith  which  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had  inspired  in 
the  whole  English  nation  was  as  intense,  as  that  more  frantic  enthu- 
siasm with  which  at  one  time  the  French  regarded  Napoleon),  the 
country  seemed  in  so  perfect  a  state  of  orderly  defence,  and  the  help 
at  hand  in  case  of  need  so  near  and  overwhelming,  that  alarm  was 
unknown,  and  our  travellers,  among  whom  two  were  naturally  of  a 
very  timid  sort,  were,  like  all  the  other  multiplied  English  tourists, 
entirely  at  ease.  The  famous  regiment,  with  so  many  of  whose 
officers  we  have  made  acquaintance,  was  drafted  in  canal-boats  to 
Bruges  and  Ghent,  thence  to  march  to  Brussels.  Jos  accompanied 
the  ladies  in  the  public  boats  ;  the  which  all  old  travellers  in  Flanders 
must  remember  for  the  luxury  and  accommodation  they  afforded. 
So  prodigiously  good  was  the  eating  and  drinking  on  board  these 
sluggish  but  most  comfortable  vessels,  that  there  are  legends  extant 
( f  an  English  traveller,  who,  coming  to  Belgium  for  a  week,  and 
travelling  in  one  of  these  boats,  was  so  delighted  with  the  fare  there 
that  he  went  backwards  and  forwards  from  Ghent  to  Bruges  perpetu- 
ally until  the  railroads  were  invented,  when  he  drowned  himself  on 
the  last  trip  of  the  passage-boat.  Jos's  death  was  not  to  be  of  this 
sort,  but  his  comfort  was  exceeding,  and  Mrs.  O'Dowd  insisted  that 
he  only  wanted  her  sister  Glorvina  to  make  his  happiness  complete. 
He  sate  on  the  roof  of  the  cabin  all  day  drinking  Flemish  beer, 
shouting  for  Isidor,  his  servant,  and  talking  gallantly  to  the  ladies. 

His  corn-age  was  prodigious.  "  Boney  attack  us !  "  he  cried. 
"  My  dear  creature,  my  poor  Emmy,  don't  be  frightened.  There's  no 
danger.  The  allies  will  be  in  Paris  in  two  months,  I  tell  you ;  when 
I'll  take  you  to  dine  in  the  Palais  Royal,  by  Jove  !  There  are  three 
hundred  thousand  Rooshians,  I  tell  you,  now  entering  France  by 
Mayence  and  the  Rhine — three  hundred  thousand  under  Wittgenstein 
and  Barclay  de  Tolly,  my  poor  love.  You  don't  know  military  affairs, 
my  dear.  I  do,  and  I  tell  you  there's  no  infantry  in  France  can  stand 
against  Rooshian  infantry,  and  no  general  of  Boney's  that's  fit  to  hold 

*  This  incident  is    mentioned   in   Mr.    Gieig's    "Story   of    the   Battle   of 
Waterloo. " 


A   KOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  259 

a  candle  to  Wittgenstein.  Then  there  are  the  Austrians,  they  are  five 
hundred  thousand  if  a  man,  and  they  are  within  ten  marches  of  the 
frontier  by  this  time,  under  Schwartzenberg  and  Prince  Charles.  Then 
there  are  the  Prooshians  under  the  gallant  Prince  Marshal.  Show  me 
a  cavalry  chief  like  him  now  that  Murat  is  gone.  Hey,  Mrs.  O'Dowd  ? 
Do  you  think  our  little  girl  here  need  be  afraid  1  Is  there  any  cause 
for  fear,  Isidor?     Hey,  sir?     Get  some  more  beer." 

Mrs.  O'Dowd  said  that  her  "  Glorvina  was  not  afraid  of  any  man 
alive,  let  alone  a  Frenchman,"  and  tossed  off  a  glass  of  beer  with  a 
wink  which  expressed  her  liking  for  the  beverage. 

Having  frequently  been  in  presence  of  the  enemy,  or,  in  other 
words,  faced  the  ladies  at  Cheltenham  and  Bath,  our  friend,  the  Col- 
lector, had  lost  a  great  deal  of  his  pristine  timidity,  and  was  now, 
especially  when  fortified  with  liquor,  as  talkative  as  might  be.  He 
was  rather  a  favourite  with  the  regiment,  treating  the  young  officers 
with  sumptuosity,  and  amusing  them  by  his  military  airs.  And  as 
there  is  one  well-known  regiment  of  the  army  which  travels  with  a 
goat  heading  the  column,  whilst  another  is  led  by  a  deer,  George  said 
with  respect  to  his  brother-in-law,  that  his  regiment  marched  with 
an  elephant. 

Since  Amelia's  introduction  to  the  regiment,  George  began  to  be 
rather  ashamed  of  some  of  the  company  to  which  he  had  been  forced  to 
present  her ;  and  determined,  as  he  told  Dobbin  (with  what  satisfac- 
tion to  the  latter  it  need  not  be  said),  to  exchange  into  some  better  regi= 
ment  soon,  and  to  get  his  wife  away  from  those  damned  vulgar  women. 
But  this  vulgarity  of  being  ashamed  of  one's  society  is  much  more 
common  among  men  than  women  (except  very  great  ladies  of  fashion, 
who,  to  be  sure,  indulge  in  it) ;  and  Mrs.  Amelia,  a  natural  and  un-  H 
affected  person,  had  none  of  that  artificial  shamefacedness  which  her  / 
husband  mistook  for  delicacy  on  his  own  part.  Thus  Mrs.  O'Dowd  / 
had  a  cock's  plume  in  her  hat,  and  a  very  large  "  repay ther  "  on  her 
stomach,  which  she  used  to  ring  on  all  occasions,  narrating  how  it 
had  been  presented  to  her  by  her  fawther,  as  she  stipt  into  the  car'ge 
after  her  mar'ge  ;  and  these  ornaments,  with  other  outward  peculiar- 
ities of  the  Major's  wife,  gave  excruciating  agonies  to  Captain  Osborne, 
when  his  wife  and  the  Major's  came  in  contact ;  whereas  Amelia  was 
only  amused  by  the  honest  lady's  eccentricities,  and  not  in  the  least 
ashamed  of  her  company. 

As  they  made  that  well-known  journey,  which  almost  every 
Englishman  of  middle  rank  has  travelled  since,  there  might  have 
been  more  instructive,  but  few  more  entertaining,  companions  than 
Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd.  "  Talk  about  kenal  boats,  my  dear !  Ye 
should  see  the  kenal  boats  between  Dublin  and  Ballinasloe.  It's 
there  the  rapid  travelling  is ;  and  the  beautiful  cattle.      Sure  me 


t6o  VANITY    FAIR 

fawther  got  a  goold  medal  (and  his  Excellency  himself  eat  a  slice  of 
it,  and  said  never  was  finer  mate  in  his  loif)  for  a  four-year-old 
heifer,  the  like  of  which  ye  never  saw  in  this  country  any  day." 
And  Jos  owned  with  a  sigh,  "  that  for  good  streaky  beef,  really 
mingled  with  fat  and  lean,  there  was  no  country  like  England." 

"Except  Ireland,  where  all  your  best  mate  comes  from,"  said 
the  Major's  lady  ;  proceeding,  as  is  not  unusual  with  patriots  of  her 
nation,  to  make  comparisons  greatly  in  favoiu-  of  her  own  country. 
The  idea  of  comparing  the  market  at  Bruges  with  those  of  Dublin, 
although  she  had  suggested  it  herself,  caused  immense  scorn  and 
derision  on  her  part.  "  I'll  thank  ye  tell  me  what  they  mean  by 
that  old  gazabo  on  the  top  of  the  market-place,"  said  she,  in  a  burst 
of  ridicule  fit  to  have  brought  the  old  tower  down.  The  place  was 
full  of  English  soldiery  as  they  passed.  English  bugles  woke  them 
in  the  morning ;  at  nightfall  they  went  to  bed  to  the  note  of  the 
British  fife  and  drum  :  all  the  country  and  Europe  was  in  arms,  and 
the  greatest  event  of  history  pending :  and  honest  Peggy  O'Dowd, 
whom  it  concerned  as  well  as  another,  went  on  prattling  about 
Ballinafad,  and  the  horses  in  the  stables  at  Glenmalony,  and  the 
clar't  drunk  there ;  and  Jos  Sedley  interposed  about  curry  and  rice 
at  Dumdum ;  and  Amelia  thought  about  her  husband,  and  how  best 
she  should  show  her  love  for  him  ;  as  if  these  were  the  great  topics 
of  the  world. 

Those  who  like  to  lay  down  the  History-book,  and  to  speculate 
upon  what  might  have  happened  in  the  world,  but  for  the  fatal 
occiurence  of  what  actually  did  take  place  (a  most  puzzling,  amusing, 
ingenious,  and  profitable  kind  of  meditation),  have  no  doubt  often 
thought  to  themselves  what  a  specially  bad  time  Napoleon  took  to 
come  back  from  Elba,  and  to  let  loose  his  eagle  from  Gulf  San  Juan 
to  Notre  Dame.  The  historians  on  our  side  tell  us  that  the  armies 
of  the  allied  powers  were  all  providentially  on  a  war-footing,  and 
ready  to  bear  down  at  a  moment's  notice  upon  the  Elban  Emperor. 
The  august  jobbers  assembled  at  Vienna,  and  carving  out  the  king- 
doms of  Europe  according  to  their  wisdom,  had  such  causes  of  quarrel 
among  themselves  as  might  have  set  the  armies  which  had  overcome 
Napoleon  to  fight  against  each  other,  but  for  the  return  of  the  object 
of  unanimous  hatred  and  fear.  This  monarch  had  an  army  in  full 
force  because  he  had  jobbed  to  himself  Poland,  and  was  determined 
to  keep  it :  another  had  robbed  half  Saxony,  and  was  bent  upon 
maintaining  his  acquisition  :  Italy  was  the  object  of  a  third's  solici- 
tude. Each  was  protesting  against  the  rapacity  of  the  other ;  and 
could  the  Corsican  but  have  waited  in  prison  until  all  tliese  parties 
were  by  the  ears,  he  might  have  returned  and  reigned  unmolested. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  261 

But  what  would  have  become  of  our  story  and  all  our  friends,  then  1 
If  all  the  drops  in  it  were  dried  up,  what  would  become  of  the  sea  ? 

In  the  meanwhile  the  business  of  life  and  living,  and  the  pursuits 
of  pleasure,  especially,  went  on  8^  if  no  end  were  to  be  expected 
to  them,  and  no  enemy  in  front.  When  our  travellers  arrived  at 
Brussels,  in  which  their  regiment  was  quartered,  a  great  piece  of  good 
fortune,  as  all  said,  they  found  themselves  in  one  of  the  gayest  and 
most  brilliant  little  capitals  in  Europe,  and  where  all  the  Vanity 
Fair  booths  were  laid  out  with  the  most  tempting  liveliness  and 
splendour.  Gambling  was  here  in  profusion,  and  dancing  in  plenty  : 
feasting  was  there  to  fill  with  delight  that  great  gourmand  of  a  Jos : 
there  was  a  theatre  where  a  miraculous  Catalani  was  delighting  all 
hearers  :  beautiful  rides,  all  enlivened  with  martial  splendour ;  a  rare 
old  city,  with  strange  costumes  and  wonderful  architecture,  to  delight 
lihe"eyes  of  little  Amelia,  who  had  never  before  seen  a  foreign  country, 
and  fill  her  with  charming  surprises :  so  that  now  and  for  a  few 
weeks'  space  in  a  fine  handsome  lodging,  whereof  the  expenses  were 
borne  by  Jos  and  Osborne,  who  was  flush  of  money  and  full  of  kind 
attentions  to  his  wife — for  about  a  fortnight,  I  say,  during  which 
her  honeymoon  ended,  Mrs.  Amelia  was  as  pleased  and  happy  as 
any  little  bride  out  of  England. 

Every  day  during  this  happy  time  there  was  novelty  and  amuse- 
mfait  for  all  parties.  There  was  a  chiu'ch  to  see,  or  a  picture-gallery 
— there  was  a  ride,  or  an  opera.  The  bands  of  the  regiments  were 
making  music  at  all  hours.  The  greatest  folks  of  England  walked 
in  the  Park — there  was  a  perpetual  military  festival.  George,  taking 
out  his  wife  to  a  new  jaunt  or  junket  every  night,  was  quite  pleased 
with  himself  as  usual,  and  swore  he  was  becoming  quite  a  domestic 
character.  And  a  jaimt  or  a  junket  with  him  !  Was  it  not  enough 
to  set  this  little  heart  beating  with  joy  ?  Her  letters  home  to  her 
mother  were  filled  with  delight  and  gratitude  at  this  season.  Her 
luisband  bade  her  buy  laces,  millinery,  jewels,  and  gimcracks  of  all 
sorts.     Oh,  he  was  the  kindest,  best,  and  most  generous  of  men  ! 

The  sight  of  the  very  great  company  of  lords  and  ladies  and 
fashionable  persons  who  thronged  the  town,  and  appeared  in  every 
public  place,  filled  George's  truly  British  soul  with  intense  delight. 
They  flimg  off  that  happy  frigidity  and  insolence  of  demeanour 
which  occasionally  characterises  the  great  at  home,  and  appearing  in 
numberless  public  places,  condescended  to  mingle  with  the  rest  of 
the  company  whom  they  met  there.  One  night  at  a  party  given  by 
the  general  of  the  division  to  which  George's  regiment  belonged, 
he  had  the  honour  of  dancing  with  Lady  Blanche  Thistlewood, 
Lord  Bareacres'  daughter ;  he  bustled  for  ices  and  refreshments  for 
the  two  noble  ladies;  he  pushed  and  squeezed  for  Lady  Bareacres' 


262  VANITY    FAIR 

carriage ;  he  bragged  about  the  Countess  when  he  got  home,  in  a 
way  which  his  own  father  could  not  have  surpassed.  He  called 
upon  the  ladies  the  next  day ;  he  rode  by  their  side  in  the  Park ; 
he  asked  their  party  to  a  great  dinner  at  a  restaurateur's,  and  was 
quite  wild  with  exultation  when  they  agreed  to  come.  Old  Bareacres, 
who  had  not  much  pride  and  a  large  appetite,  would  go  for  a  dinner 
anywhere. 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  no  women  besides  our  own  party,"  Lady 
Bareacres  said,  after  reflecting  upon  the  invitation  which  had  been 
made,  and  accepted  with  too  much  precipitancy. 

"  Gracious  Heaven,  Mamma — you  don't  suppose  the  man  would 
bring  his  wife,"  shrieked  Lady  Blanche,  who  had  been  languishing 
in  George's  arms  in  the  newly-imported  waltz  for  hours  the  night 
before.     "  The  men  are  bearable,  but  their  women " 

"Wife,  just  married,  dev'lish  pretty  woman,  I  hear,"  the  old 
/Earl  said. 

'  Well,  my  dear  Blanche,"  said  the  mother,  "  I  suppose,  as  papa 
wants  to  go,  we  must  go ;  but  we  needn't  know  them  in  England, 
you  know."  And  so,  determined  to  cut  their  new  acquaintance  in 
Bond  Street,  these  great  folks  went  to  eat  his  dinner  at  Brussels, 
and  condescending  to  make  him  pay  for  their  pleasure,  showed  their 
dignity  by  making  his  wife  uncomfortable,  and  carefully  excluding 
^  her  from  the  conversation.  This  is  a  species  of  dignity  in  which  the 
Ihigh-bred  British  female  reigns  supreme.  To  watch  the  behaviour 
bf  a  fine  lady  to  other  and  humbler  women,  is  a  very  good  sport  for 
a  philosophical  frequenter  of  Vanity  Fair. 

This  festival,  on  whichc'lionesti  George  spent  a  great  deal  of 
money,  was  the  very  dismauest '  oi"  all  the  entertainments  which 
Amelia  had  in  her  honeymoon.  She  wrote  the  most  piteous  accounts 
of  the  feast  home  to  her  mamma. :  how  the  Countess  of  Bareacres 
would  not  answer  when  spoken  to ;  how  Lady  Blanche  stared  at  her 
with  her  eye-glass ;  and  what  a  rage  Captain  Dobbin  was  in  at  their 
behaviour;  and  how  my  lord,  as  they  came  away  from  the  feast, 

asked  to  see  the  bill,  and  pronounced  it  a  d bad  dinner,  and  d 

dear.  But  though  Amelia  told  all  these  stories,  and  wrote  home 
regarding  her  guests'  rudeness,  and  her  own  discomfiture,  old  Mrs. 
Sedley  was  mightily  pleased  nevertheless,  and  talked  about  Emmy's 
friend,  the  Countess  of  Bareacres,  with  such  assiduity  that  the  news 
how  his  son  was  entertaining  Peers  and  Peeresses  actually  came  to 
Osborne's  ears  in  the  City. 

Those  who  know  the  present  Lieutenant-General  Sir  George 
Tufto,  K.C.B.,  and  have  seen  him,  as  they  may  on  most  days  in  the 
season,  padded  and  in  stays,  strutting  down  Pall  Mall  with  a  rickety 
swagger  on  his  high-heeled  lacquered  boots,  leering  imder  the  bonnets 


MRS.  O  DOWD   AT   THE    FLOWER   MARKET. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  263 

of  passers-by,  or  riding  a  showy  chestnut,  and  ogling  broughams  in 
the  Parks — those  who  know  the  present  Sir  George  Tufto  would 
hardly  recognise  the  daring  Peninsular  and  Waterloo  officer.  He  has 
thick  curUng  brown  hair  and  black/-eyebrows  now,  and  his  whiskers 
are  of  the  deepest  purple.  He  was  light-haired  and  bald  in  1815, 
and  stouter  in  the  person  and  in  the  limbs,  which  especially  have 
shrunk  very  much  of  late.  When  he  was  about  seventy  years  of 
age  (he  is  now  nearly  eighty),  his  hair,  which  was  very  scarce  and 
quite  white,  suddenly  grew  thick,  and  brown,  and  curly,  and  hi.s 
whiskers  and  eyebrows  took  their  present  colour.  Ill-natured  people 
say  that  his  chest  is  all  wool,  and  that  his  hair,  because  it  never 
grows,  is  a  wig.  Tom  Tufto,  with  whose  father  he  quarrelled  ever 
so  many  years  ago,  declares  that  Mademoiselle  de  Jaisey,  of  the 
French  theatre,  pulled  his  grandpapa's  hair  off  in  the  green-room ; 
but  Tom  is  notoriously  spiteful  and  jealous ;  and  the  General's  wig 
has  nothing  to  do  with  our  story. 

One  day,  as  some  of  our  friends  of  the  — th  were  sauntering  in 
the  flower-market  of  Brussels,  having  been  to  see  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
which  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  declared  was  not  near  so  large  or  hand- 
some as  her  fawther's  mansion  of  Glenmalony,  an  officer  of  rank, 
with  an  orderly  behind  him,  rode  up  to  the  market,  and  descending 
from  his  horse,  came  amongst  the  flowers,  and  selected  the  very 
finest  bouquet  which  money  could  buy.  The  beautifiil  bundle  being 
tied  up  in  a  paper,  the  officer  remounted,  giving  the  nosegay  into  the 
charge  of  his  military  groom,  who  carried  it  with  a  grin,  following 
his  chief,  who  rode  away  in  great  state  and  self-satisfaction. 

"You  should  see  the  flowers  at  Glenmalony,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd 
was  remarking.  "  Me  fawther  has  three  Scotch  gamers  with  nine 
helpers.  We  have  an  acre  of  hothouses,  and  pines  as  common  as 
pays  in  the  sayson.  Our  greeps  weighs  six  pounds  every  bunch  of 
'em,  and  upon  me  honour  and  conscience  I  think  our  magnolias  is  as 
big  as  tay-kettles." 

Dobbin,  who  never  used  to  "  draw  out "  Mrs.  O'Dowd  as  that 
wicked  Osborne  delighted  in  doing  (much  to  Amelia's  terror,  who 
implored  him  to  spare  her),  fell  back  in  the  crowd,  crowing  and 
sputtering  until  he  reached  a  safe  distance,  when  he  exploded  amongst 
the  astonished  market-people  with  shrieks  of  yelling  laughter. 

"H what's  that  gawky  guggling  about?"  said  Mrs.  O'Dowd. 
"Is  it  his  nose  bleedn?  He  always  used  to  say  'twas  his  nose 
bleedn,  till  he  must  have  pomped  all  the  blood  out  of  um.  An't  the 
magnolias  at  Glenmalony  as  big  as  tay-kettles,  O'Dowd  1 " 

"'Deed  then  they  are,  and  bigger,  Peggy,"  the  Major  said. 
When  the  conversation  was  interrupted  in  the  manner  stated  by  the 
arrival  of  the  officer  who  purchased  the  bouquet. 

21 


264  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Dev'lish  fine  horse, — who  is  it  ? "  George  asked. 

"  You  should  see  me  brother  Molloy  Malony's  horse,  Molasses, 
that  won  the  cop  at  the  Curragh,"  the  Major's  wife  was  exclaiming, 
and  was  continuing  the  family  history,  when  her  husband  interrupted 
her  by  saying — 

"  It's  General  Tufto,  who  commands  the cavalry  division ; " 

adding  quietly,  "he  and  I  were  both  shot  in  the  same  leg  at 
Talavera." 

"Where  you  got  your  step,"  said  George  with  a  laugh, 
"General  Tufto  !     Then,  my  dear,  the  Crawleys  are  come." 

Amelia's  heart  fell — she  knew  not  why.  The  sun  did  not  seem 
to  shine  so  bright.  The  tall  old  roofs  and  gables  looked  less  pictur- 
esque all  of  a  sudden,  though  it  was  a  brilliant  sunset,  and  one  of  the 
brightest  and  most  beautiful  days  at  the  end  of  May. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

BRUSSELS 

MR.  JOS  had  hired  a  pair  of  horses  for  his  open  carriage,  with 
which  cattle,  and  the  smart  London  vehicle,  he  made  a  very 
tolerable  figure  in  the  drives  about  Brussels.  George  pur- 
chased a  horse  for  his  private  riding,  and  he  and  Captain  Dobbin 
would  often  accompany  the  carriage  in  which  Jos  and  his  sister  took 
daily  excursions  of  pleasure.  They  went  out  that  day  in  the  Park 
for  their  accustome^d  diversion,  and  there,  sure  enough,  George's  re- 
mark with  regard  to  the  arrival  of  Rawdon  Crawley  and  his  wife 
proved  to  be  correct.  In  the  midst  of  a  little  troop  of  horsemen, 
consisting  of  some  of  the  very  greatest  persons  in  Brussels,  Rebecca 
was  seen  in  the  prettiest  and  tightest  of  riding  habits,  mounted  on 
a  beautiful  little  Arab,  which  she  rode  to  perfection  (having  acquired 
the  art  at  Queen's  Crawley,  where  the  Baronet,  Mr.  Pitt,  and 
Rawdon  himself  had  given  her  many  lessons),  and  by  the  side  of 
the  gallant  General  Tufto. 

"  Sure  it's  the  Juke  himself,"  cried  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  to  Jos, 
who  began  to  blush  violently ;  "  and  that's  Lord  Uxbridge  on  the 
bay.  How  elegant  he  looks !  Me  brother,  MoUoy  Malony,  is  as 
like  him  as  two  pays." 

Rebecca  did  not  make  for  the  carriage ;  but  as  soon  as  she  per- 
ceived her  old  acquaintance  Amelia  seated  in  it,  acknowledged  her 
presence  by  a  gracious  nod  and  smile,  and  by  kissing  and  shaking 
her  fingers  playfully  in  the  direction  of  the  vehicle.  Then  she  re- 
sumed her  conversation  with  General  Tufto,  who  asked  "  who  the 
fat  officer  was  in  the  gold-laced  cap  1 "  on  which  Becky  replied,  "  that 
he  was  an  officer  in  the  East  Indian  service."  But  Rawdon  Crawley 
rode  out  of  the  ranks  of  his  company,  and  came  up  and  shook  hands 
heartily  with  Amelia,  and  said  to  Jos,  "  Well,  old  boy,  how  are  you?" 
and  stared  in  Mrs.  O'Dowd's  face  and  at  the  black  cock's  feathers 
imtil  she  began  to  think  she  had  made  a  conquest  of  him. 

George,  who  had  been  delayed  behind,  rode  up  almost  immedi- 
ately with  Dobbin,  and  they  touched  their  caps  to  the  august  person- 
ages, among  whom  Osbonie  at  once  perceived  Mrs.  Crawley.  He 
was  delighted  to  see  Rawdon  leaning  over  his  carriage  familiarly  and 


266  ^TANITY   FAIR 

talking  to  Amelia,  and  met  the  aide-de-camp's  cordial  greeting  with 
more  than  corresponding  warmth.  The  nods  between  Rawdon  and 
Dobbin  were  of  the  very  faintest  specimens  of  politeness. 

Crawley  told  George  where  they  were  stopping  with  General 
Tufto  at  the  Hotel  du  Pare,  and  George  made  his  friend  promise  to 
come  speedily  to  Osborne's  own  residence.  "  Sorry  I  hadn't  seen 
you  three  days  ago,"  George  said.  "  Had  a  dinner  at  the  Restaura- 
tem^'s — rather  a  nice  thing.  Lord  Bareacres,  and  the  Countess,  and 
Lady  Blanche,  were  good  enough  to  dine  with  us — wish  we'd  had 
you."  Having  thus  let  his  friend  know  his  claims  to  be  a  man 
of  fashion,  Osborne  parted  from  Rawdon,  who  followed  the  august 
squadron  down  an  alley  into  which  they  cantered,  while  George  and 
Dobbin  resumed  their  places,  one  on  each  side  of  Amelia's  carriage. 

"  How  well  the  Juke  looked,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  remarked.  "  The 
Wellesleys  and  Malonys  are  related ;  but,  of  course,  poor  /  would 
never  dream  of  introjuicing  myself  unless  his  Grace  thought  proper 
to  remember  our  family-tie." 

"  He's  a  great  soldier,"  Jos  said,  much  more  at  ease  now  the 
great  man  was  gone.  "  Was  there  ever  a  battle  won  like  Salamanca  ? 
Hey,  Dobbin  1  But  where  was  it  he  learnt  his  art  1  In  India,  my 
boy  !  The  jungle's  the  school  for  a  general,  mark  me  that.  I  knew 
him  myself,  too,  Mrs.  O'Dowd :  we  both  of  us  danced  the  same 
evening  with  Miss  Cutler,  daughter  of  Cutler  of  the  Artillery,  and  a 
devilish  fine  girl,  at  Dumdum." 

The  apparition  of  the  great  personages  held  them  all  in  talk 
during  the  drive;  and  at  dinner;  and  until  the  hour  came  when 
they  were  all  to  go  to  the  Opera. 

It  was  almost  like  Old  England.  The  house  was  filled  with 
familiar  British  faces,  and  those  toilettes  for  which  the  British  female 
has  long  been  celebrated.  Mrs.  O'Dowd's  was  not  the  least  splendid 
amongst  these,  and  she  had  a  curl  on  her  forehead,  and  a  set  of  Irish 
diamonds  and  Cairngorms,  which  outshone  all  the  decorations  in  the 
house,  in  her  notion.  Her  presence  used  to  excruciate  Osborne; 
but  go  she  would  upon  all  parties  of  pleasure  on  which  she  heard 
her  young  friends  were  bent.  It  never  entered  into  her  thought  but 
that  they  must  be  charmed  with  her  company. 

"  She's  been  useful  to  you,  my  dear,"  George  said  to  his  wife, 
whom  he  could  leave  alone  with  less  scruple  when  she  had  this 
society.  "  But  what  a  comfort  it  is  that  Rebecca's  come  :  you  will 
have  her  for  a  friend,  and  we  may  get  rid  now  of  this  damn'd  Irish- 
woman." To  this  Amelia  did  not  answer,  yes  or  no :  and  how  do 
we  know  what  her  thoughts  were  ? 

The  coup-d^oeil  of  the  Brussels  opera-house  did  not  strike  Mrs. 
Dowd  as  being  so  fine  as  the  theatre  in  Fishamble  Street,  Dublin^ 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  267 

nor  was  Freneh  music  at  all  equal,  in  her  opinion,  to  the  melodies 
of  her  native  country.  She  favoured  her  friends  with  these  and 
other  opinions  in  a  very  loud  tone  of  voice,  and  tossed  about  a  great 
clattering  fan  she  sported,  with  the  most  splendid  complacency. 

"  Who  is  that  wonderful  woman  with  Amelia,  Rawdon,  love  1 " 
said  a  lady  in  an  opposite  box  (who,  almost  always  civil  to  her  husband 
in  private,  was  more  fond  than  ever  of  him  in  company). 

"  Don't  you  see  that  creature  with  a  yellow  thing  in  her  turban, 
and  a  red  satin  gown,  and  a  great  watch  ? " 

"  Near  the  pretty  little  woman  in  white  1 "  asked  a  middle-aged 
gentleman  seated  by  the  querist's  side,  with  orders  in  his  button,  and 
several  under-waistcoats,  and  a  great,  choky,  white  stock. 

"  That  pretty  woman  in  white  is  Amelia,  General :  you  are  re- 
marking all  the  pretty  women,  you  naughty  man." 

"  Only  one,  begad,  in  the  world ! "  said  the  General,  delighted, 
and  the  lady  gave  him  a  tap  with  a  large  bouquet  which  she  had. 

"Bedad  it's  him,"  said  Mrs.  O'Dowd;  "and  that's  the  very 
bokay  he  bought  in  the  Marshy  aux  Flures  ! "  and  when  Rebecca, 
having  caught  her  friend's  eye,  performed  the  little  hand-kissing 
operation  once  more,  Mrs.  Major  O'D.,  taking  the  compliment  to 
herself,  returned  the  salute  with  a  gi-acious  smile,  which  sent  that 
unfortunate  Dobbin  shrieking  out  of  the  box  again. 

At  the  end  of  the  act,  George  was  out  of  the  box  in  a  moment, 
and  he  was  even  going  to  pay  his  respects  to  Rebecca  in  her  loge. 
He  met  Crawley  in  the  lobby,  however,  where  they  exchanged  a  few 
sentences  upon  the  occurrences  of  the  last  fortnight. 

"  You  found  my  cheque  all  right  at  the  agent's  ? "  George  said, 
with  a  knowing  air. 

"  All  right,  my  boy,"  Rawdon  answered.  "  Happy  to  give  you 
your  revenge.     Governor  come  round  1 " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  George,  "  but  he  will ;  and  you  know  I've  some 
private  fortune  through  my  mother.     Has  Aunty  relented  1 " 

"  Sent  me  twenty  pound,  damned  old  screw.  When  shall  we 
have  a  meet  1  The  General  dines  out  on  Tuesday.  Can't  you  come 
Tuesday  ?  I  say,  make  Sedley  cut  off  his  moustache.  What  the 
devil  does  a  civilian  mean  with  a  moustache  and  those  infernal  frogs 
to  his  coat !  By-bye.  Try  and  come  on  Tuesday ; "  and  Rawdon 
was  going  off  with  two  bnlliant  young  gentlemen  of  fashion,  who 
were,  like  himself,  on  the  staff  of  a  general  officer. 

George  was  only  half  pleased  to  be  asked  to  dinner  on  that 
particular  day  when  the  General  was  not  to  dine.  "  I  will  go  in 
and  pay  my  respects  to  your  wife,"  said  he ;  at  which  Rawdon  said, 
"  H'm,  as  you  please,"  looking  very  glum,  and  at  which  the  two 
young  otficei's  exchanged  knowing  glances.     George  parted  from  them 


268  VANITY    FAIR 

and  strutted  down  the  lobby  to  the  General's  box,  the  number  of 
which  he  had  carefully  counted. 

"  Entrez,^^  said  a  clear  little  voice,  and  our  friend  found  himself 
in  Rebecca's  presence ;  who  jumped  up,  clapped  her  hands  together, 
and  held  out  both  of  them  to  Greorge,  so  charmed  was  she  to  see  him. 
The  General,  with  the  orders  in  his  button,  stared  at  the  new-comer 
with  a  sulky  scowl,  as  much  as  to  say,  who  the  devil  are  you  1 

"  My  dear  Captain  George  !  "  cried  little  Rebecca  in  an  ecstasy. 
"  How  good  of  you  to  come.  The  General  and  I  were  moping 
together  tete-a-tete.  General,  this  is  my  Captain  George  of  whom 
you  heard  me  talk." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  General,  with  a  very  small  bow ;  "  of  what 
regiment  is  Captain  George  1 " 

George  mentioned  the  — th  :  how  he  wished  he  could  have  said 
it  was  a  crack  cavalry  corps. 

"  Come  home  lately  from  the  West  Indies,  I  believe.  Not  seen 
much  service  in  the  late  war.  Quartered  here.  Captain  George  1" 
— the  General  went  on  with  killing  haughtiness. 

"Not  Captain  George,  you  stupid  man;  Captain  Osborne," 
Rebecca  said.  The  General  all  the  while  was  looking  savagely  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  Captain  Osborne,  indeed  !    Any  relation  to  the  L —  Osbomes  1 " 

"  We  bear  the  same  arms,"  George  said,  as  indeed  was  the  fact ; 
Mr.  Osborne  having  consulted  with  a  herald  in  Long  Acre,  and 
picked  the  L —  arms  out  of  the  peerage,  when  he  set  up  his  carriage 
fifteen  years  before.  The  General  made  no  reply  to  this  announce- 
ment; but  took  up  his  opera-glass — the  double-barrelled  lorgnon 
was  not  invented  in  those  days — and  pretended  to  examine  the 
house ;  but  Rebecca  saw  that  his  disengaged  eye  was  working 
round  in  her  direction,  and  shooting  out  bloodshot  glances  at  her 
and  George. 

She  redoubled  in  cordiality.  "  How  is  dearest  Amelia  ?  But  I 
needn't  ask :  how  pretty  she  looks !  And  who  is  that  nice  good- 
natured  looking  creature  with  her — a  flame  of  yours "?  Oh,  you 
wicked  men !  And  there  is  Mr.  Sedley  eating  ice,  I  declare :  how 
he  seems  to  enjoy  it !     General,  why  have  we  not  had  any  ices  1 " 

"  Shall  I  go  and  fetch  you  some  1 "  said  the  General,  bursting 
with  wrath. 

"  Let  me  go,  I  entreat  you,"  George  said. 

"  No,  I  will  go  to  Amelia's  box.  Dear,  sweet  girl !  Give  me 
your  arm.  Captain  George ; "  and  so  saying,  and  with  a  nod  to  the 
General,  she  tripped  into  the  lobby.  She  gave  George  the  queerest, 
knowingest  look,  when  they  were  together,  a  look  which  might  have 
been  interpreted,  "  Don't  you  see  the  state  of  affairs,  and  what  a 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  269 

fool  I'm  making  of  him?"  But  he  did  not  perceive  it.  He  wafi'^  \ 
thinking  of  his  own  plans,  and  lost  in  pompons.,  admiration  of  his  \{y 
own  irresistible  powers  of  pleasing. 

TEe'  curses  to  which  the  Gener^  gave  a  low  utterance,  as  soon 
as  Rebecca  and  her  conqueror  had  quitted  him,  were  so  deep,  that  I 
am  sure  no  compositor  would  venture  to  print  them  were  they  written 
down.  They  came  from  the  General's  heart ;  and  a  wonderful  thing 
it  is  to  think  that  the  human  heart  is  capable  of  generating  such 
produce,  and  can  throw  out,  as  occasion  demands,  such  a  supply  of 
lust  and  fury,  rage  and  hatred. 

Amelia's  gentle  eyes,  too,  had  been  fixed  anxiously  on  the  pair, 
whose  conduct  had  so  chafed  the  jealous  General ;  but  when  Rebecca 
entered  her  box,  she  flew  to  her  friend  with  an  affectionate  rapture 
which  showed  itself,  in  spite  of  the  publicity  of  the  place ;  for  she 
embraced  her  dearest  friend  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  house,  at 
least  in  full  view  of  the  General's  glass,  now  brought  to  bear  upon 
the  Osborne  party.  Mrs.  Rawdon  saluted  Jos,  too,  with  the  kindliest 
gi'eeting :  she  admired  Mrs.  O'Dowd's  large  Cairngorm  brooch  and 
superb  Irish  diamonds,  and  wouldn't  believe  that  they  were  not  from 
Golconda  direct.  She  bustled,  she  chattered,  she  turned  and  twisted, 
and  smiled  upon  one,  and  smirked  on  another,  all  in  full  view  of  the 
jealous  opera-glass  opposite.  And  when  the  time  for  the  ballet  came 
(in  which  there  was  no  dancer  that  went  through  her  grimaces  or 
performed  her  comedy  of  action  better),  she  skipped  back  to  her  own 
box,  leaning  on  Captain  Dobbin's  arm  this  time.  No,  she  would 
not  have  George's :  he  must  stay  and  talk  to  his  dearest,  best, 
little  Amelia. 

"  Whata  humbug  that  woman  is  !  "  honest  old  Dobbin  mumbled  \ 
to  George,  wEen  he  came  back  from  Rebecca's  box,  whither  he  had 
conducted  her  in  perfect  silence,  and  with  a  countenance  as  glum  as 
an  undertaker's.  "  She  writhes  and  twists  about  like  a  snake.  All 
the  time  she  was  here,  didn't  you  see,  George,  how  she  was  acting 
at  the  General  over  the  way  *? " 

"  Humbug — acting !  Hang  it,  she's  the  nicest  little  woman  in 
England,"  George  replied,  showing  his  white  teeth,  and  giving  his 
ambrosial  whiskers  a  twirl.  "  You  ain't  a  man  of  the  world,  Dobbin. 
Dammy,  look  at  her  now,  she's  talked  over  Tufto  in  no  time.  Look 
how  he's  laughing !  Gad,  what  a  shoulder  she  has  !  Emmy,  why 
didn't  you  have  a  bouquet?     Everybody  has  a  bouquet." 

"Faith,  then,  why  didn't  you  boy  one?"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  said; 
and  both  Amelia  and  William  Dobbin  thanked  her  for  this  timely 
observation.  But  beyond  this  neither  of  the  ladies  rallied.  Amelia 
was  overpowered  by  the  flash  and  the  dazzle  and  the  fashionable 
talk  of  her  worldly  rival.    Even  the  O'Dowd  was  silent  and  subdued 


i 

L 


170  VANITY    FAIR 

after  Becky's  brilliant  apparition,  and  scarcely  said  a  word  more 
about  Glenmalony  all  the  evening. 

"When  do  you  intend  to  give  up  play,  George,  as  you  have 
promised  me,  any  time  these  hundred  years?"  Dobbin  said  to  his 
friend  a  few  days  after  the  night  at  the  Opera. 

"  When  do  you  intend  to  give  up  sermonising  ? "  was  the  other's 
reply.  "  What  the  deuce,  man,  are  you  alarmed  about  *?  We  play 
low ;  I  won  last  night.  You  don't  suppose  Crawley  cheats  ?  With 
fair  play  it  comes  to  pretty  much  the  same  thing  at  the  year's  end." 

"  But  I  don't  think  he  could  pay  if  he  lost,"  Dobbin  said ;  and 
his  advice  met  with  the  success  which  advice  usually  commands. 
Osborne  and  Crawley  were  repeatedly  together  now.  General  Tufto 
dined  abroad  almost  constantly.  George  was  always  welcome  in  the 
apartments  (very  close  indeed  to  those  of  the  General)  which  the 
Aide-de-camp  and  his  wife  occupied  in  the  hotel. 

Amelia's  manners  were  such  when  she  and  George  visited 
Crawley  and  his  wife  at  these  quarters,  that  they  had  very  nearly 
come  to  their  first  quarrel ;  that  is,  George  scolded  his  wife  violently 
for  her  evident  unwillingness  to  go^  and  the  high  and  mighty  manner 
in  which  she  comported  herself  towards  Mrs.  Crawley,  her  old  friend ; 
and  Amelia  did  not  say  one  single  word  in  reply ;  but  with  her 
husband's  eye  upon  her,  and  Rebecca  scanning  her  as  she  felt,  was, 
if  possible,  more  bashful  and  awkward  on  the  second  visit  which  she 
paid  to  Mrs.  Rawdon,  than  on  her  first  call. 

Rebecca  was  doubly  affectionate,  of  course,  and  would  not  take 
notice,  in  the  least,  of  her  friend's  coolness.     "  I  think  Emmy  has 

become  prouder  since  her  father's  name  was  in  the  ,  since  Mr. 

Sedley's  misfortunes"  Rebecca  said,  softening  the  phrase  charitably 
for  George's  ear. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  thought  when  we  were  at  Brighton  she  was 
doing  me  the  honour  to  be  jealous  of  me ;  and  now  I  suppose  she  is 
scandalised  because  Rawdon,  and  I,  and  the  General  live  together. 
Why,  my  dear  creature,  how  could  we,  with  our  means,  live  at  all, 
but  for  a  friend  to  share  expenses?  And  do  you  suppose  that 
Rawdon  is  not  big  enough  to  take  care  of  my  honour?  But  I'm 
very  much  obliged  to  Emmy,  very,"  Mrs.  Rawdon  said. 

"  Pooh,  jealousy  !  "  answered  George  ;  "  all  women  are  jealous." 

"  And  all  men  too.  Weren't  you  jealous  of  General  Tufto,  and 
the  General  of  you,  on  the  night  of  the  Opera?  Why,  he  was 
ready  to  eat  me  for  going  with  you  to  visit  that  foolish  little 
wife  of  yours ;  as  if  I  care  a  pin  for  either  of  you,"  Crawley's  wife 
said,  with  a  pert  toss  of  her  head.  "  Will  you  dine  here  *?  The 
dragon  dines  with  the  Commander-in-Chief.     Great  news  is  stirring. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  271 

They  say  the  French  have  crossed  the  frontier.  We  shall  have  a 
quiet  dinner." 

George  accepted  the  invitation,  although  his  wife  was  a  little 
ailing.  They  were  now  not  quiter'  six  weeks  married.  Another 
woman  was  laughing  or  sneering  at  her  expense,  and  he  not  angry. 
He  was  not  even  angry  with  himself,  this  good-natured  fellow.  It 
is  a  shame,  he  owned  to  himself;  but  hang  it,  if  a  j)retty  woman 
will  throw  herself  in  your  way,  why,  what  can  a  fellow  do,  you 
know  ?  I  am  rather  free  about  women,  he  had  often  said,  smiling 
and  nodding  knowingly  to  Stubble  and  Spooney,  and  other  comrades 
of  the  mess-table ;  and  they  rather  respected  him  than  otherwise  for 
this  prowess.  Next  to  conquering  in  war,  conquering  in  love  has 
been  a  source  of  pride,  time  out  of  mind,  amongst  men  in  Vanity 
Fair,  or  how  should  schoolboys  brag  of  their  amours,  or  Don  Juan 
be  popular  ? 

So  Mr.  Osborne,  having  a  firm  conviction  in  his  own  mind  that 
he  was  a  woman-killer  and  destined  to  conquer,  did  not  run  counter 
to  his  fate,  but  yielded  himself  up  to  it  quite  complacently.  And 
as  Emmy  did  not  say  much  or  plague  him  with  her  jealousy,  but 
merely  became  unhappy  and  pined  over  it  miserably  in  secret,  he 
chose  to  fancy  that  she  was  not  suspicious  of  what  all  his  acquaint- 
ance were  perfectly  aware — namely,  that  he  was  carrying  on  a 
desperate  flirtation  with  Mrs.  Crawley.  He  rode  with  her  whenever 
she  was  free.  He  pretended  regimental  business  to  Amelia  (by 
which  falsehood  she  was  not  in  the  least  deceived),  and  consigning 
his  wife  to  solitude  or  her  brother's  society,  passed  his  evenings  in 
the  Crawleys'  company ;  losing  money  to  the  husband  and  flattering 
himself  that  the  wife  was  dying  of  love  for  him.  It  is  very  likely 
that  this  worthy  couple  never  absolutely  conspired  and  agreed 
together  in  so  many  words  :  the  one  to  cajole  the  young  gentleman, 
whilst  the  other  won  his  money  at  cards  :  but  they  understood  each 
other  perfectly  well,  and  Rawdon  let  Osborne  come  and  go  with 
entire  good-humour. 

George  was  so  occupied  with  his  new  acquaintances  that  he  and 
William  Dobbin  were  by  no  means  so  much  together  as  formerly. 
George  avoided  him  in  public  and  in  the  regiment,  and,  as  we  see, 
did  not  like  those  sermons  which  his  senior  was  disposed  to  inflict 
upon  him.  If  some  parts  of  his  conduct  made  Captain  Dobbin 
exceedingly  grave  and  cool ;  of  what  use  was  it  to  tell  George  that, 
though  his  whiskers  were  large,  and  his  own  opinion  of  his  knowing- 
ness  gi-eat,  he  was  as  green  as  a  schoolboy  1  that  Rawdon  was  making 
a  victim  of  him  as  he  had  done  of  many  before,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  used  him  would  fling  him  off"  with  scorn  ?  He  would  not  listen  : 
and  so,  as  Dobbin,  upon  those  days  when  he  visited  the  Qsbome 


272  VANITY    FAIR 

house,  seldom  had  the  advantage  of  meeting  his  old  friend,  much 
painful  and  unavailing  talk  between  them  was  spared.  Our  friend 
George  was  in  the  full  career  of  the  pleasures  of  Vanity  Fair. 

There  never  was,  since  the  days  of  Darius,  such  a  brilliant  train 
of  camp-followers  as  hung  round  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  army  in 
the  Low  Countries,  in  1815 ;  and  led  it  dancing  and  feasting,  as  it 
were,  up  to  the  very  brink  of  battle.  A  certain  ball  which  a  noble 
Duchess  gave  at  Brussels  on  the  15th  of  June  in  the  above-named 
year  is  historical.  All  Brussels  had  been  in  a  state  of  excitement 
about  it,  and  I  have  heard  from  ladies  who  were  in  that  town  at  the 
period,  that  the  talk  and  interest  of  persons  of  their  own  sex  regard- 
ing the  ball  was  much  greater  even  than  in  respect  of  the  enemy  in 
their  front.  The  struggles,  intrigues,  and  prayers  to  get  tickets 
were  such  as  only  English  ladies  will  employ,  in  order  to  gain 
admission  to  the  society  of  the  great  of  their  own  nation. 

Jos  and  Mrs.  O'Dowd,  who  were  panting  to  be  asked,  strove  in 
vain  to  procure  tickets ;  but  others  of  our  friends  were  more  lucky. 
For  instance,  through  the  interest  of  my  Lord  Bareacres,  and  as  a 
set-off  for  the  dinner  at  the  restaurateur's,  George  got  a  card  for  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Osborne ;  which  circumstance  greatly  elated  him.  Dobbiuj 
who  was  a  friend  of  the  General  commanding  the  division  in  which 
their  regiment  was,  came  laughing  one  day  to  Mrs.  Osborne,  and  dis- 
played a  similar  invitation,  which  made  Jos  envious,  and  George 
wonder  how  the  deuce  he  should  be  getting  into  society.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Rawdon,  finally,  were  of  course  invited ;  as  became  the  friends 
of  a  General  commanding  a  cavalry  brigade. 

On  the  appointed  night,  George,  having  commanded  new  dresses 
and  ornaments  of  all  sorts  for  Amelia,  drove  to  the  famous  ball,  where 
his  wife  did  not  know  a  single  soul.  After  looking  about  for  Lady 
Bareacres,  who  cut  him,  thinking  the  card  was  quite  enough — and  after 
placing  Amelia  on  a  bench,  he  left  her  to  her  own  cogitations  therC; 
thinking,  on  his  own  part,  that  he  had  behaved  very  handsomely  in 
getting  her  new  clothes,  and  bringing  her  to  the  ball,  where  she  was 
free  to  amuse  herself  as  she  liked.  Her  thoughts  were  not  of  the 
pleasantest,  and  nobody  except  honest  Dobbin  came  to  disturb  them. 

Whilst  her  appearance  was  an  utter  failure  (as  her  husband  felt 

^'     with  a  sort  of  rage),  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  debut  was,  on  the  con- 

^        trary,  very  brilliant.     She  arrived  very  late.     Her  face  was  radiant ; 

,v*         her  dress  perfection.     In  the  midst  of  the  great  persons  assembled, 

and  the  eye-glasses  directed  to  her,  Rebecca  seemed  to  be  as  cool  and 

collected  as  when  she  used  to  marshal  Miss  Pinkerton's  little  girls  to 

^        church.     Numbers  of  the  men  she  knew  already,  and  the  dandies 

thronged  round  her.    As  for  the  ladies,  it  was  whispered  among  them 


V 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  273 

that  Rawdon  had  run  away  with  her  from  out  of  a  convent,  and  that 
she  was  a  relation  of  the  Montmorency  family.  She  spoke  French 
so  perfectly  that  there  might  be  some  truth  in  this  report,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  her  manners  were  fine,  and  her  air  distingue.  Fifty 
would-be  partners  thronged  round  her  at  once,  and  pressed  to  have 
the  honour  to  dance  with  her.  But  she  said  she  was  engaged,  and 
only  going  to  dance  very  little ;  and  made  her  way  at  once  to  the 
place  where  Emmy  sate  quite  unnoticed,  and  dismally  unhappy.  And 
so,  to  finish  the  poor  child  at  once,  Mrs.  Rawdon  ran  and  greeted 
affectionately  her  dearest  Amelia,  and  began  forthwith  to  patronise 
her.  She  found  fault  with  her  friend's  dress,  and  her  hairdresser, 
and  wondered  how  she  could  be  so  chaussee,  and  vowed  that  she 
must  send  her  corsetiere  the  next  morning.  She  vowed  that  it  was 
a  delightful  ball :  that  there  was  everybody  that  every  one  knew, 
and  only  a  very  few  nobodies  in  the  whole  room.  It  is  a  fact,  that 
in  a  fortnight,  and  after  three  dinners  in  general  society,  this  young 
woman  had  got  up  the  genteel  jargon  so  well,  that  a  native  could 
not  speak  it  better ;  and  it  was  only  from  her  French  being  so  good, 
that  you  could  know  she  was  not  a  bom  woman  of  fashion. 

George,  who  had  left  Emmy  on  her  bench  on  entering  the  ball- 
room, very  soon  found  his  way  back  when  Rebecca  was  by  her  dear 
friend's  side.  Becky  was  just  lecturing  Mrs.  Osborne  upon  the  follies 
which  her  husband  was  committing.  "  For  God's  sake,  stop  him  from 
gambling,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "or  he  will  ruin  himself.  He  and 
Rawdon  are  playing  at  cards  every  night,  and  you  know  he  is  very 
poor,  and  Rawdon  will  win  every  shilling  from  him  if  he  does  not 
take  care.  Why  don't  you  prevent  him,  you  little  careless  creature  1 
Why  don't  you  come  to  us  of  an  evening,  instead  of  moping  at  home 
with  that  Captain  Dobbin  ?  I  daresay  he  is  tres  aimable  ;  but  how 
could  one  love  a  man  with  feet  of  such  size  1  Your  husband's  feet 
are  darlings — Here  he  comes.  Where  have  you  been,  wretch "?  Here 
is  Emmy  crying  her  eyes  out  for  you.  Are  you  coming  to  fetch  me 
for  the  quadrille  ? "  And  she  left  her  bouquet  and  shawl  by  Amelia's 
side,  and  tripped  off  with  George  to  dance.  Women  only  know  how 
to  wound  so.  There  is  a  poison  on  the  tips  of  their  little  shafts, 
which  stings  a  thousand  times  more  than  a  man's  blunter  weapon. 
Our  poor  Emmy,  who  had  never  hated,  never  sneered  all  her  life, 
was  powerless  in  the  hands  of  her  remorseless  little  enemy. 

George  danced  with  Rebecca  twice  or  thrice — how  many  times 
Amelia  scarcely  knew.  She  sate  quite  unnoticed  in  her  comer,  except 
when  Rawdon  came  up  with  some  words  of  clumsy  conversation  :  and 
later  in  the  evening,  when  Captain  Dobbin  made  so  bold  as  to  bring 
her  refreshments  and  ait  beside  her.  He  did  not  like  to  ask  her  why 
she  was  so  sad ;  but  as  a  pretext  foi;  the  tears  which  were  filling  in 


274  VANITY    FAIR 

her  eyes,  she  told  him  that  Mrs.  Crawley  had  alarmed  her  by  telling 
her  that  George  would  go  on  playing. 

"It  is  curious,  when  a  man  is  bent  upon  play,  by  what  clumsy 
rogues  he  will  allow  himself  to  be  cheated,"  Dobbin  said ;  and  Emmy 
said,  "  Indeed."  She  was  thinking  of  something  else.  It  was  not 
the  loss  of  the  money  that  grieved  her. 

At  last  George  came  back  for  Rebecca's  shawl  and  flowers.  She 
was  going  away.  She  did  not  even  condescend  to  come  back  and 
say  good-bye  to  Amelia.  The  poor  girl  let  her  husband  come  and  go 
without  saying  a  word,  and  her  head  fell  on  her  breast.  Dobbin  had 
been  called  away,  and  was  whispering  deep  in  conversation  with  the 
General  of  the  division,  his  friend,  and  had  not  seen  this  last  parting. 
George  went  away  then  with  the  bouquet ;  but  when  he  gave  it  ta 
the  owner,  there  lay  a  note,  coiled  like  a  snake  among  the  flowers 
Rebecca's  eye  caught  it  at  once.  She  had  been  used  to  deal  with 
notes  in  early  life.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  took  the  nosegay. 
He  saw  by  her  eyes  as  they  met,  that  she  was  aware  what  she  should 
find  there.  Her  husband  hurried  her  away,  still  too  intent  upon  his 
own  thoughts,  seemingly,  to  take  note  of  any  marks  of  recognition 
which  might  pass  between  his  friend  and  his  wife.  These  were,  how- 
ever, but  trifling.  Rebecca  gave  George  her  liand  with  one  of  her 
usual  quick  knowing  glances,  and  made  a  curtsey  and  walked  away. 
George  bowed  over  the  hand,  said  nothing  in  reply  to  a  remark  of 
(>awley's,  did  not  hear  it  even,  his  brain  was  so  throbbing  with 
triumph  and  excitement,  and  allowed  them  to  go  away  without  a  word. 

His  wife  saw  the  one  part  at  least  of  the  bouquet-scene.  It  was 
quite  natural  that  George  should  come  at  Rebecca's  request  to  get  her 
her  scarf  and  flowers :  it  was  no  more  than  he  had  done  twenty 
times  before  in  the  course  of  the  last  few  days ;  but  now  it  was  too 
much  for  her.  "  William,"  she  said,  suddenly  clinging  to  Dobbin, 
who  was  near  her,  "  you've  always  been  very  kind  to  me — I'm— I'm 
not  well.  Take  me  home."  She  did  not  know  she  called  him  by 
his  Christian  name,  as  George  v/as  accustomed  to  do.  He  went 
away  with  her  quickly.  Her  lodgings  Avere  hard  by ;  and  they 
threaded  through  the  crowd  without,  where  everything  seemed  to 
be  more  astir  than  even  in  the  ball-room  within. 

George  had  been  angry  twice  or  thrice  at  finding  his  wife  up  on 
liirt  return  from  the  parties  which  he  frequented  :  so  she  went  straight 
to  bed  now ;  but  although  she  did  not  sleep,  and  although  the  din 
and  clatter,  and  the  galloping  of  horsemen  were  incessant,  she  never 
heard  any  of  these  noises,  having  quite  other  disturbances  to  keep 
her  awake. 

Osborne  meanwhile,  wild  with  elation,  went  off"  to  a  play-table, 
and  began  to  bet  frantically.     He  won  repeatedly.     "  Everything 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  275 

succeeds  with  me  to-night,"  he  said.  But  his  luck  at  play  even  did 
not  ciu"e  him  of  his  restlessness,  and  he  started  up  after  a  while, 
pocketing  his  winnings,  and  went  to  a  buffet,  where  he  drank  off 
many  bumpers  of  wine.  .  ^ 

Here,  as  he  was  rattling  away  to  the  people  around,  laughing 
loudly  and  wild  with  spirits,  Dobbin  found  him.  He  had  been  to 
tlie  card-tables  to  look  there  for  his  friend.  Dobbin  looked  as  pale 
and  grave  as  his  comrade  was  flushed  and  jovial. 

"  Hullo,  Dob  !  Come  and  drink,  old  Dob  !  The  Duke's  wine 
is  famous.  Give  me  some  more,  you  sir ; "  and  he  held  out  a  trembling 
glass  for  the  liquor. 

"  Come  out,  George,"  said  Dobbin,  still  gravely  ;  "  don't  drink." 

"  Drink  !  there's  nothing  like  it.  Drink  yourself,  and  light  up 
your  lantern  jaws,  old  boy.     Here's  to  you." 

Dobbin  went  up  and  whispered  something  to  him,  at  which 
George,  giving  a  start  aiid  a  wild  hurray,  tossed  off  his  glass,  clapped 
it  on  the  table,  and  walked  away  speedily  on  his  friend's  arm.  "  The 
enemy  has  passed  the  Sambre,"  William  said,  "  and  our  left  is  already 
engaged.     Come  away.     We  are  to  march  in  three  hours." 

Away  went  George,  his  nerves  quivering  with  excitement  at  the  ^ 
news  so  long  looked  for,  so  sudden  when  it  came.  What  were  love 
and  intrigue  now  1  He  thought  about  a  thousand  things  but  these  in 
his  rapid  walk  to  his  quarters — his  past  life  and  future  chances — the 
fate  which  might  be  before  him — the  wife,  the  child  perhaps,  from 
whom  unseen  he  might  be  about  to  part.  Oh,  how  he  wished  that 
night's  work  undone !  and  that  with  a  clear  coiiscience  at  least  lie 
might  say  farewell  to  the  tender  and  guileless  being  by  whose  love 
he  had  set  such  little  store  !  / 

He  thought  over  his  brief  married  life.     In  those  few  weeks  he   / 
had  frightfully  dissipated  his  little  capital.     How  wild  and  reckless  / 
he  had  been  !     Should  any  mischance  befall  him  :  what  was  then  left/ 
for  her  ?    How  unworthy  he  was  of  her  !    Why  had  he  married  her  i 
He  was  not  fit  for  marriage.     Why  had  he  disobeyed  his  father,  who^-.  .^ 
had  been  always  so  generous  to  him  ?     Hope,  remorse,  ambition 
tenderness,  and  selfish  regret  filled  his  heart.     He  sate  down  and 
wrote  to  his  father,  remembering  Avhat  he  had  said  once  before, 
when  he  was  engaged  to  fight  a  duel.     Dawn  faintly  streaked  the 
sky  as  he  closed  this  farewell  letter.     He  sealed  it,  and  kissed  the 
superscription.      He  thought  how  he  had  deserted  that  generous 
father,  and  of  the  thousand  kindnesses  which  the  stem  old  man 
had  done  him. 

He  had  looked  into  Amelia's  bedroom  when  he  entered  ;  she  lay 
quiet,  and  her  eyes  seemed  closed,  and  he  was  glad  that  she  was 


/ 


276  VANITY    FAIR 

asleep.  On  arriving  at  his  quarters  from  the  ball,  he  had  found 
his  regimental  servant  already  making  preparations  for  his  depar- 
ture :  the  man  had  understood  his  signal  to  be  still,  and  these 
arrangements  were  very  quickly  and  silently  made.  Should  he  go 
in  and  wake  Amelia,  he  thought,  or  leave  a  note  for  her  brother 
to  break  the  news  of  departure  to  her?  He  went  in  to  look  at 
her  once  again. 

She  had  been  awake  when  he  first  entered  her  room,  but  had 
kept  her  eyes  closed,  so  that  even  her  wakefulness  should  not  seem 
to  reproach  him.  But  when  he  had  returned,  so  soon  after  herself, 
too,  this  timid  little  heart  had  felt  more  at  ease,  and  turning  to- 
wards him  as  he  stept  softly  out  of  the  room,  she  had  fallen  into  a 
light  sleep.  George  came  in  and  looked  at  her  again,  entering  still 
more  softly.  By  the  pale  night-lamp  he  could  see  her  sweet,  pale 
face — the  purple  eyelids  were  fringed  and  closed,  and  one  round 
arm,  smooth  and  white,  lay  outside  of  the  coverlet.  Good  God ! 
how  piu-e  she  was ;  how  gentle,  how  tender,  and  how  friendless ! 
and  he,  how  selfish,  brutal,  and  black  with  crime !  Heart-stained 
and  shame-stricken,  he  stood  at  the  bed's  foot,  and  looked  at  the 
sleeping  girl.  How  dared  he — who  was  he,  to  pray  for  one  so 
spotless  !  God  bless  her !  God  bless  her !  He  came  to  the  bed- 
side, and  looked  at  the  hand,  the  little  soft  hand,  lying  asleep ;  and 
he  bent  over  the  pillow  noiselessly  towards  the  gentle  pale  face. 

Two  fair  arms  closed  tenderly  round  his  neck  as  he  stooped 
down.  "  I  am  awake,  George,"  the  poor  child  said,  with  a  sob 
fit  to  break  the  little  heart  that  nestled  so  closely  by  his  own. 
She  was  awake,  poor  soul,  and  to  what  ?  At  that  moment  a  bugle 
from  the  Place  of  Arms  began  sounding  clearly,  and  was  taken 
up  through  the  town ;  and  amidst  the  drums  of  the  infantry,  and 
the  shrill  pipes  of  the  Scotch,  the  whole  city  awoke. 


y 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  GIRL  I  LEFT  BEHIND  ME 


WE  do  not  claim  to  rank  among  the  military  novelists.  Our 
place  is  with  the  non-combatants.  When  the  decks  are 
cleared  for  action  we  go  below  and  wait  meekly.  We 
should  only  be  in  the  way  of  the  manoeuvres  that  the  gallant  fellows 
are  performing  overhead.  We  shall  go  no  farther  with  the  — th  than 
to  the  city  gate  :  and  leaving  Major  O'Dowd  to  his  duty,  come  back 
to  the  Major's  wife,  and  the  ladies,  and  the  baggage. 

Now,  the  Major  and  his  lady,  who  had  not  been  invited  to  the 
ball  at  which  in  our  last  chapter  other  of  our  friends  figured,  had 
much  more  time  to  take  their  wholesome  natural  rest  in  bed  than 
was  accorded  to  people  who  wished  to  enjoy  pleasure  as  well  as  to 
do  duty.  "  It's  my  belief,  Peggy,  my  dear,"  said  he,  as  he  placidly 
pulled  his  nightcap  over  his  ears,  "  that  there  will  be  such  a  ball 
danced  in  a  day  or  two  as  some  of  'em  has  never  heard  the  chune 
of;"  and  he  was  much  more  happy  to  retire  to  rest  after  partaking 
of  a  quiet  tumbler,  than  to  figure  at  any  other  sort  of  amusement. 
Peggy,  for  her  part,  would  have  liked  to  have  shown  her  tiu:ban 
and  bird  of  paradise  at  the  ball,  but  for  the  infonnation  which  her 
husband  had  given  her,  and  which  made  her  very  grave. 

"  I'd  like  ye  wake  me  about  half-an-hour  before  the  assembly 
beats,"  the  Major  said  to  his  lady.  "Call  me  at  half-past  one, 
Peggy  dear,  and  see  me  things  is  ready.  Maybe  I'll  not  come  back 
to  breakfast,  Mrs.  O'D."  With  which  words,  which  signified  his 
opinion  that  the  regiment  would  march  the  next  morning,  the  Major 
ceased  talking,  and  fell  asleep. 

Mrs.  O'Dowd,  the  good  housewife,  arrayed  in  ciirl-papers  and  a 
camisole,  felt  that  her  duty  was  to  act,  and  not  to  sleep,  at  this 
juncture.  "  Time  enough  for  that,"  she  said,  "  when  Mick's  gone ; " 
and  so  she  packed  his  travelling  valise  ready  for  the  march,  brushed 
his  cloak,  his  cap,  and  other  warlike  habiliments,  set  them  out  in 
order  for  him ;  and  stowed  away  in  the  cloak  pockets  a  light  package 
of  portable  refreshments,  and  a  wicker-covered  flask  or  pocket-pistol, 
containing  near  a  pint  of  a  remarkably  sound  Cognac  brandy,  of 
which  she  and  the  Major  approved  very  much ;  and  as  soon  as  the 


278  VANITY    FAIR 

hands  of  the  "  repay ther  "  pointed  to  half-past  one,  and  its  interior 
arrangements  (it  had  a  tone  quite  equal  to  a  cathaydral,  its  fair 
owner  considered)  knelled  forth  that  fatal  hour,  Mrs.  O'Dowd  woke 
up  her  Major,  and  had  as  comfortable  a  cup  of  coffee  prepared  for 
/  him  as  any  made  that  morning  in  Brussels.  And  who  is  there  will 
i  deny  that  this  worthy  lady's  preparations  betokened  affection  as 
much  as  the  fits  of  tears  and  hysterics  by  which  more  sensitive 
females  exhibited  their  love,  and  that  their  partaking  of  this  coffee, 
which  they  drank  together  while  the  bugles  were  sounding  the  turn- 
out and  the  drums  beating  in  the  various  quarters  of  the  town,  was 
/  not  more  useful  and  to  the  purpose  than  the  outpouring  of  any  mere 
(^  sentiment  could  be  ?  The  consequence  was,  that  the  Major  appeared 
on  parade  quite  trim,  fresh,  and  alert,  his  well-shaved  rosy  counte- 
nance, as  he  sate  on  horseback,  giving  cheerfulnes*!  and  confidence 
to  the  whole  corps.  All  the  officers  saluted  her  when  the  regiment 
marched  by  the  balcony  on  which  this  brave  woman  stood,  and 
waved  them  a  cheer  as  they  passed ;  and  I  daresay  it  was  not  from 
want  of  courage,  but  from  a  sense  of  female  delicacy  and  propriety, 
that  she  refrained  from  leading  the  gallant  — th  personally  into 
action. 

On  Sundays,  and  at  periods  of  a  solemn  nature,  Mrs.  O'Dowd 
used  to  read  with  great  gravity  out  of  a  large  volume  of  her  uncle 
the  Dean's  sermons.  It  had  been  of  great  comfort  to  her  on  board 
the  transport  as  they  were  coming  home,  and  were  very  nearly 
wrecked,  on  their  return  from  the  West  Indies.  After  the  regiment's 
departure  she  betook  herself  to  this  volume  for  meditation ;  perhaps 
she  did  not  understand  much  of  what  she  was  reading,  and  her 
thoughts  were  elsewhere :  but  the  sleep  project,  with  poor  Mick's 
nightcap  there  on  the  pillow,  was  quite  a  vain  one.  So  it  is  in  the 
world.  Jack  or  Donald  marches  away  to  glory  with  his  knapsack 
on  his  shoulder,  stepping  out  briskly  to  the  tune  of  "  The  Girl  I 
left  behind  me."  It  is  she  who  remains  and  suffers, — and  has  the 
leisure  to  think,  and  brood,  and  remember. 

Knowing  how  useless  regrets  are,  and  how  the  indulgence  of 
sentiment  only  serves  to  make  people  more  miserable,  Mrs.  Rebecca 
wisely  determined  to  give  way  to  no  vain  feelings  of  sorrow,  and 
bore  the  parting  from  her  husband  with  quite  a  Spartan  equanimity. 
Indeed  Captain  Rawdon  himself  was  much  more  affected  at  the 
leave-taking  than  the  resolute  little  woman  to  whom  he  bade  fare- 
well. She  had  mastered  this  rude  coarse  nature ;  and  he  loved  and 
worshipped  her  with  all  his  faculties  of  regard  and  admiration.  In 
all  his  life  he  had  never  been  so  happy,  as,  during  the  past  few 
months,  his  wife  had  made  him.  All  former  delights  of  turf,  mess, 
hunting-field,  and  gambling-table ;  all  previous  loves  and  courtships 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  279 

of  milliners,  opera-dancers,  and  the  like  easy  triumphs  of  the  clumsy 
military  Adonis,  were  quite  insipid  when  compared  with  the  lawful 
matrimonial  pleasiu-es  which  of  late  he  had  enjoyed.  She  had 
known  perpetually  how  to  divert  him ;  and  he  had  found  his  house 
and  her  society  a  thousand  times  more  pleasant  than  any  place  or 
company  which  he  had  ever  frequented  from  his  childhood  until 
now.  And  he  cursed  his  past  follies  and  extravagances,  and  be- 
moaned his  vast  outlying  debts  above  all,  which  must  remain  for 
ever  as  obstacles  to  prevent  his  wife's  advancement  in  the  world. 
He  had  often  groaned  over  these  in  midnight  conversations  with 
Rebecca,  although  as  a  bachelor  they  had  never  given  him  any 
disquiet.  He  himself  was  struck  with  this  phenomenon.  "  Hang 
it,"  he  would  say  (or  perhaps  use  a  still  stronger  expression  out  of 
his  simple  vocabulary),  "before  I  was  married  I  didn't  care  what 
bills  I  put  my  name  to,  and  so  long  as  Moses  would  wait  or  Levy 
would  renew  for  three  months,  I  kept  on  never  minding.  But  since 
I'm  married,  except  renewing,  of  course,  I  give  you  my  honour  I've 
not  touched  a  bit  of  stamped  paper." 

Rebecca  always  knew  how  to  conjure  away  these  moods  of 
melancholy.  "Why,  my  stupid  love,"  she  would  say,  "we  have 
not  done  with  your  aunt  yet.  If  she  fails  us,  isn't  there  what  you 
call  the  Gazette  ?  or,  stop,  when  your  uncle  Bute's  life  drops,  I  have 
another  scheme.  The  living  has  always  belonged  to  the  younger 
brother,  and  why  shouldn't  you  sell  out  and  go  into  the  Church  1 " 
The  idea  of  this  conversion  set  Rawdon  into  roars  of  laughter : 
you  might  have  heard  the  explosion  through  the  hotel  at  midnight, 
and  the  haw-haws  of  the  great  dragoon's  voice.  General  Tufto  heard 
him  from  his  quarters  on  the  first  floor  above  them ;  and  Rebecca 
acted  the  scene  with  great  spirit,  and  preached  Rawdon's  first  sermon, 
to  the  immense  delight  of  the  General  at  breakfast. 

But  these  were  mere  bygone  days  and  talk.  When  the  final 
news  arrived  that  the  campaign  was  opened,  and  the  troops  were  to 
march,  Rawdon's  gravity  became  such  that  Becky  rallied  him  about 
it  in  a  manner  which  rather  hurt  the  feelings  of  the  Guardsman. 
"You  don't  suppose  I'm  afraid,  Becky,  I  should  think,"  he  said, 
with  a  tremor  in  his  voice.  "  But  I'm  a  pretty  good  mark  for  a 
shot,  and  you  see  if  it  brings  me  down,  why  I  leave  one  and  perhaps 
two  behind  me  whom  I  should  wish  to  provide  for,  as  I  brought  'em 
into  the  scrape.     It  is  no  laughing  matter  that^  Mrs.  C.,  anyways." 

Rebecca  by  a  hundred  caresses  and  kind  words  tried  to  soothe 
the  feelings  of  the  wounded  lover.  It  was  only  when  her  vivacity 
arid  sense  of  humour  got  the  better  of  this  sprightly  creature  (as 
they  would  do  under  most  circumstances  of  life  indeed)  that  she 
would  break  out  with  her  satire,  but  she  could  soon  put  on  a  demure 
22 


\ 


280  VANITY    FAIR 

face.  "Dearest  love,"  she  said,  "do  you  suppose  I  feel  nothing?" 
and  hastily  dashing  something  from  her  eyes,  she  looked  up  in  her 
husband's  face  with  a  smile. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he.     "  If  I  drop,  let  us  see  what  there  is  for 

you.     I  have  had  a  pretty  good  run  of  luck  here,  and  here's  two 

hundred  and  thirty  pounds.    I  have  got  ten  Napoleons  in  my  pocket. 

That  is  as  much  as  I  shall  want ;  for  the  General  pays  everything 

like  a  prince ;  and  if  I'm  hit,  why  you  know  I  cost  nothing.     Don't 

(  cry,  little  woman ;  I  may  live  to  vex  you  yet.     Well,  I  shan't  take 

I  either  of  my  horses,  but  shall  ride  the  General's  grey  charger :  it's 

I  cheaper,  and  I  told  him  mine  was  lame.     If  I'm  done,  those  two 

J       j  ought  to  fetch  you  something.     Grigg  offered  ninety  for  the  mare 

k.    N  yesterday,  before  this  confounded  news  came,  and  like  a  fool  I 

wouldn't  let  her  go  under  the  two  O's.    Bullfinch  will  fetch  his  price 

^  ,    any  day,  only  you'd  better  sell  him  in  this  country,  because  the 

'^  I   dealers  have  so  many  bills  of  mine,  and  so  I'd  rather  he  shouldn't 

^  V  go  back  to  England.     Your  little  mare  the  General  gave  you  will 

fetch  something,  and  there's  no  d — d  livery  stable  bills  here  as  there 

are   in   London,"  Rawdon  added,  with  a  laugh.      "There's  that 

dressing-case  cost  me  two  hundred — that  is,  I  owe  two  for  it ;  and 

the  gold  tops  and  bottles  must  be  worth  thirty  or  forty.     Please  to 

put  that  up  the  spout,  ma'am,  with  my  pins,  and  rings,  and  watch 

and  chain,  and  things.     They  cost  a  precious  lot  of  money.     Miss 

Crawley,  I  know,  paid  a  hundred  down  for  the  chain  and  ticker. 

Gold  tops  and  bottles,  indeed  !  dammy,  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  take  more 

now.     Edwards  pressed  on  me  a  silver-gilt  boot-jack,  and  I  might 

have  had  a  dressing-case  fitted  up  with  a  silver  warming-pan,  and  a 

service  of  plate.     But  we  must  make  the  best  of  what  we've  got, 

Becky,  you  know." 

And  so,  making  his  last  dispositions.  Captain  Crawley,  who  had 
seldom  thought  about  anything  but  himself,  until  the  last  few  months 
of  his  life,  when  Love  had  obtained  the  mastery  over  the  dragoon, 
went  through  the  various  items  of  his  Httle  catalogue  of  effects, 
striving  to  see  how  they  might  be  turned  into  money  for  his  wife's 
benefit,  in  case  any  accident  should  befall  him.  He  pleased  himself 
by  noting  down  with  a  pencil,  in  his  big  schoolboy  handwriting,  the 
various  items  of  his  portable  property  which  might  be  sold  for  his 
widow's  advantage — as,  for  example,  "  My  double-barril  by  Manton, 
say  40  guineas ;  my  driving  cloak,  lined  with  sable  fiir,  £50 ;  my 
duelling  pistols  in  rosewood  case  (same  which  I  shot  Captain  Marker), 
£20 ;  my  regulation  saddle-holsters  and  housings  ;  my  Laurie  ditto," 
and  so  forth,  over  all  of  which  articles  he  made  Rebecca  the  mistress. 
Faithful  to  his  plan  of  economy,  the  Captain  dressed  himself  in 
his  oldest  and  shabbiest  uniform  and  epaulets,  leaving  the  newest 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  281 

behind  under  his  wife's  (or  it  might  be  his  widow's)  guardianship. 
And  this  famous  dandy  of  Windsor  and  Hyde  Park  went  off  on  his 
campaign  with  a  kit  as  modest  as  that  of  a  sergeant,  and  with  some- 
thing like  a  prayer  on  his  lips  foi^  the  woman  he  was  leaving.  He 
took  her  up  from  the  ground,  and  held  her  in  his  arms  for  a  minute, 
tight  pressed  against  his  strong-beating  heart.  His  face  was  purple 
and  his  eyes  dim,  as  he  put  her  down  and  left  her.  He  rode  by  his 
General's  side,  and  smoked  his  cigar  in  silence  as  they  hastened  after 
the  troops  of  the  General's  brigade,  which  preceded  them ;  and  it 
was  not  until  they  were  some  miles  on  their  way  that  he  left  off 
twirling  liis  mustachio  and  broke  silence. 

And  Rebecca,  as  we  have  said,  wisely  determined  not  to  give  way 
to  unavailing  sentimentality  on  her  husband's  departure.  She  waved 
him  an  adieu  from  the  window,  and  stood  there  for  a  moment  looking 
out  after  he  was  gone.  The  cathedral  towers  and  the  full  gables  ol 
the  quaint  old  houses  were  just  beginning  to  blush  in  the  sunrise. 
There  had  been  no  rest  for  her  that  night.  She  was  still  in  her 
pretty  ball-dress,  her  fair  hair  hanging  somewhat  out  of  curl  on  her 
neck,  and  the  circles  round  her  eyes  dark  with  watching.  "  What  a 
fright  I  seem,"  she  said,  examining  herself  in  the  glass,  "  and  how  pale 
this  pink  makes  one  look  ! "  So  she  divested  herself  of  this  pink 
raiment ;  in  doing  which  a  note  fell  out  from  her  corsage,  which  she 
picked  up  with  a  smile,  and  locked  into  her  dressing-box.  And  then 
she  put  her  bouquet  of  the  ball  into  a  glass  of  water,  and  went  to 
bed,  and  slept  very  comfortably. 

The  town  was  quite  quiet  when  she  woke  up  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
partook  of  coffee,  very  requisite  and  comforting  after  the  exhaustion 
and  grief  of  the  morning's  occurrences. 

This  meal  over,  she  resumed  honest  Rawdon's  calculations  of  the 
night  previous,  and  surveyed  her  position.  Should  the  worst  befall, 
all  things  considered,  she  was  pretty  well-to-do.  There  were  her 
own  trinkets  and  trousseau,  in  addition  to  those  which  her  husband 
had  left  behind.  Rawdon's  generosity,  when  they  were  first  married, 
has  already  been  described  and  lauded.  Besides  these,  and  the  little 
mare,  the  General,  her  slave  and  worshipper,  had  made  her  many 
very  handsome  presents,  in  the  shape  of  cashmere  shawls  bought  at 
the  auction  of  a  bankrupt  French  general's  lady,  and  numerous 
tributes  from  the  jewellers'  shops,  all  of  which  betokened  her  ad- 
mirer's taste  and  wealth.  As  for  "  tickers,"  as  poor  Rawdon  called 
watches,  her  apartments  were  alive  with  their  clicking.  For,  hap- 
pening to  mention  one  night  that  hers,  which  Rawdon  had  given  to 
her,  was  of  English  workmanship,  and  went  ill,  on  the  very  next 
morning  there  came  to  her  a  little  bijou  marked  Leroy,  with  a  chain 
and  cover  charmingly  set  with  turquoises,  and  another  signed  Breguet, 


282  VANITY    FAIR 

which  was  covered  with  pearls,  and  yet  scarcely  bigger  than  a  half- 
crown.  General  Tufto  had  bought  one,  and  Captain  Osborne  had 
gallantly  presented  the  other.  Mrs.  Osborne  had  no  watch,  though, 
to  do  George  justice,  she  might  have  had  one  for  the  asking,  and  the 
Honourable  Mrs.  Tufto  in  England  had  an  old  instrument  of  her 
mother's  that  might  have  served  for  the  plate  warming-pan  which 
Rawdon  talked  about.  If  Messrs.  Howell  &  James  were  to  pub- 
lish a  list  of  the  purchasers  of  all  the  trinkets  which  they  sell,  how 
surprised  would  some  families  be  :  and  if  all  these  ornaments  went  to 
gentlemen's  lawful  wives  and  daughters,  what  a  profusion  of  jewellery 
there  would  be  exhibited  in  the  genteelest  homes  of  Vanity  Fair  ! 

Every  calculation  made  of  these  valuables  Mrs.  Rebecca  found, 
not  without  a  pungent  feeling  of  triumph  and  self-satisfaction,  that 
should  circumstances  occur,  she  might  reckon  on  six  or  seven  hun- 
dred pounds  at  the  very  least,  to  begin  the  world  with ;  and  she 
passed  the  morning  disposing,  ordering,  looking  out,  and  locking  up 
her  properties  in  the  most  agreeable  manner.  Among  the  notes  in 
Rawdon's  pocket-book,  was  a  draft  for  twenty  pounds  on  Osborne's 
banker.  This  made  her  think  about  Mrs.  Osborne.  "I  will  go 
and  get  the  draft  cashed,"  she  said,  "  and  pay  a  visit  afterwards  to 
poor  little  Emmy."  If  this  is  a  novel  without  a  hero,  at  least  let 
us  lay  claim  tq  a  heroine.,  No  man  in  the  British  army  which  has 
marched  away.  Hot  the  ^eat  Duke  himself,  could  be  more  cool  or 
collected  in  the  presence  of  doubts  and  difficulties,  than  the  indomi- 
table little  aide-de-camp's  wife. 

And  there  was  another  of  our  acquaintances  who  was  also  to  be 
left  behind,  a  non-combatant,  and  whose  emotions  and  behaviour 
we  have  therefore  a  right  to  know.  This  was  our  friend  the  ex- 
Collector  of  Boggley  Wollah,  whose  rest  was  broken,  like  other 
people's,  by  the  sounding  of  the  bugles  in  the  early  morning.  Being 
a  great  sleeper,  and  fond  of  his  bed,  it  is  possible  he  would  have 
snoozed  on  until  his  usual  hour  of  rising  in  the  forenoon,  in  spite  of 
Jill  the  drums,  bugles,  and  bagpipes  in  the  British  army,  but  for  an 
interruption,  which  did  not  come  from  George  Osborne,  who  shared 
Jos's  quarters  with  him,  and  was  as  usual  occupied  too  much  with 
his  own  affairs  or  with  grief  at  parting  with  his  wife,  to  think  of 
taking  leave  of  his  slumbering  brother-in-law — it  was  not  George, 
we  say,  who  interposed  between  Jos  Sedley  and  sleep,  but  Captain 
Dobbin,  who  came  and  roused  him  up,  insisting  on  shaking  hands 
with  him  before  his  departure. 

"  Very  kind  of  you,"  said  Jos,  yawning,  and  wishing  the  Captain 
at  the  deuce. 

'"^  I — I  didn't  like  to  go  off  without  saying  good-bye,  you  know," 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  283 

Dobbin  said  in  a  very  incoherent  manner ;  "  because  you  know  some 
of  us  mayn't  come  back  again,  and  I  like  to  see  you  all  well,  and — 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"  What  do  you  mean  1 "  Jov  asked,  rubbing  his  eyes.  The 
Captain  did  not  in  the  least  hear  him  or  look  at  the  stout  gentleman 
in  the  nightcap,  about  whom  he  professed  to  have  such  a  tender 
interest.  The  hypocrite  was  looking  and  listening  with  all  his  might 
in  the  direction  of  George's  apartments,  striding  about  the  room, 
upsetting  the  chairs,  beating  the  tattoo,  biting  his  nails,  and  show- 
ing other  signs  of  great  inward  emotion. 

Jos  had  always  had  rather  a  mean  opinion  of  the  Captain,  and 
now  began  to  think  his  courage  was  somewhat  equivocal.  "  What 
is  it  I  can  do  for  you,  Dobbin  1 "  he  said,  in  a  sarcastic  tone. 

"  I  tell  you  what  you  can  do,"  the  Captain  replied,  coming  up 
to  the  bed ;  "we  march  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Sedley,  and  neither 
George  nor  I  may  ever  come  back.  Mind  you,  you  are  not  to  stir 
from  this  town  until  you  ascertain  how  things  go.  You  are  to  stay 
here  and  watch  over  your  sister,  and  comfort  her,  and  see  that  no 
harm  comes  to  her.  If  anything  happens  to  George,  remember  she 
has  no  one  but  you  in  the  world  to  look  to.  If  it  goes  wrong  with 
the  army,  you'll  see  her  safe  back  to  England ;  and  you  will  promise 
me  on  your  word  that  you  will  never  desert  her.  I  know  you 
won't :  as  far  as  money  goes,  you  were  always  free  enough  with  that. 
Do  you  want  any  1  I  mean,  have  you  enough  gold  to  take  you  back 
to  England  in  case  of  a  misfortune  1 " 

"Sir,"  said  Jos  majestically,  "when  I  want  money,  I  know 
where  to  ask  for  it.  And  as  for  my  sister,  ymi  needn't  tell  me  how 
I  ought  to  behave  to  her." 

"  You  speak  like  a  man  of  spirit,  Jos,"  the  other  answered  good- 
naturedly,  "  and  I  am  glad  that  George  can  leave  her  in  such  good 
hands.  So  I  may  give  him  your  word  of  honour,  may  I,  that  in 
case  of  extremity  you  will  stand  by  her  1 " 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  answered  Mr.  Jos,  whose  generosity  in 
money  matters  Dobbin  estimated  quite  correctly. 

"And  you'll  see  her  safe  out  of  Brussels  in  the  event  of  a 
defeat  1" 

"A  defeat !     D it,  sir,  it's  impossible.    Don't  try  and  frighten 

me"  the  hero  cried  from  his  bed ;  and  Dobbin's  mind  was  thus  per- 
fectly set  at  ease  now  that  Jos  had  spoken  out  so  resolutely  respect- 
ing his  conduct  to  his  sister.  "  At  least,"  thought  the  Captain, 
"  there  will  be  a  retreat  secured  for  her  in  case  the  worst  should 
ensue." 

If  Captain  Dobbin  expected  to  get  any  personal  comfort  and 
satisfaction  from  having  one  more  view  of  Amelia  before  the  regiment 


284  VANITY    FAIR 

marched  away,  his  selfishness  was  punished  just  as  such  odious 
egotism  deserved  to  be.  The  door  of  Jos's  bedroom  opened  into  the 
sitting-room  which  was  common  to  the  family  party,  and  opposite 
this  door  was  that  of  Amelia's  chamber.  The  bugles  had  wakened 
everybody  :  there  was  no  use  in  concealment  now.  George's  servant 
was  packing  in  this  room  :  Osborne  coming  in  and  out  of  the  con- 
tiguous bedroom,  flinging  to  the  man  such  articles  as  he  thought 
fit  to  carry  on  the  campaign.  And  presently  Dobbin  had  the  oppor- 
tunity which  his  heart  coveted,  and  he  got  sight  of  Amelia's  face 
once  more.  But  what  a  face  it  was  !  So  white,  so  wild  and  despair- 
stricken,  that  the  remembrance  of  it  haunted  him  afterwards  like 
a  crime,  and  the  sight  smote  him  with  inexpressible  pangs  of  longing 
and  pity. 

She  was  wrapped  in  a  white  morning  dress,  her  hair  falling  on 
her  shoulders,  and  her  large  eyes  fixed  and  without  light.  By  way  of 
helping  on  the  preparations  for  the  departiu-e,  and  showing  that  she 
too  could  be  useful  at  a  moment  so  critical,  this  poor  soul  had  taken 
up  a  sash  of  George's  from  the  drawers  whereon  it  lay,  and  followed 
him  to  and  fro  with  the  sash  in  her  hand,  looking  on  mutely  as  his 
packing  proceeded.  She  came  out  and  stood,  leaning  at  the  wall, 
holding  this  sash  against  her  bosom,  from  which  the  heavy  net  of 
crimson  dropped  like  a  large  stain  of  blood.  Our  gentle-hearted 
Captain  felt  a  guilty  shock  as  he  looked  at  her.  "Good  God," 
thought  he,  "  and  is  it  grief  like  this  I  dared  to  pry  into  1 "  And 
there  was  no  help :  no  means  to  soothe  and  comfort  this  helpless, 
speechless  misery.  He  stood  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  her, 
powerless  and  torn  with  pity,  as  a  parent  regards  an  infant  in  pain. 

At  last,  George  took  Emmy's  hand,  and  led  her  back  into  the 
bedroom,  from  whence  he  came  out  alone.  The  parting  had  taken 
place  in  that  moment,  and  he  was  gone. 

"  Thank  Heaven  that  is  over,"  George  thought,  bounding  down 
the  stair,  his  sword  under  his  arm,  as  he  ran  swiftly  to  the  alarm 
ground,  where  the  regiment  was  mustered,  and  whither  trooped  men 
and  officers  hurrying  from  their  billets ;  his  pulse  was  throbbing  and 
his  cheeks  flushed :  the  great  game  of  war  was  going  to  be  played, 
and  he  one  of  the  players.  What  a  fierce  excitement  of  doubt,  hope, 
and  pleasure  !  What  tremendous  hazards  of  loss  or  gain  !  What 
were  all  the  games  of  chance  he  had  ever  played  compared  to  this 
one  1  Into  all  contests  requiring  athletic  skill  and  courage,  the  young 
man,  from  his  boyhood  upwards,  had  flung  himself  with  all  his 
might.  The  champion  of  his  school  and  his  regiment,  the  bravos  of 
his  companions  had  followed  him  everywhere ;  fi-om  the  boys'  cricket- 
match  to  the  garrison-races,  he  had  won  a  hundred  of  triumphs; 
and  wherever  he  went,  women  and  men  had  admired  and  envied 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  28$ 

him.  What  qualities  are  there  for  which  a  man  gets  so  speedy  a 
return  of  applause,  as  those  of  bodily  superiority,  activity,  and 
valour?  Time  out  of  mind  strength  and  courage  have  been  the 
theme  of  bards  and  romances ;  and  from  the  story  of  Troy  down  to 
to-day,  poetry  has  always  chosen  a  soldier  for  a  hero.  I  wonder  is 
it  because  men  are  cowards  in  heart  that  they  admire  bravery  so 
much,  and  place  military  valour  so  far  beyond  every  other  quality 
for  reward  and  worship  ? 

So,  at  the  sound  of  that  stirring  call  to  battle,  George  jumped 
away  from  the  gentle  arms  in  which  he  had  been  dallying ;  not  with- 
out a  feeling  of  shame  (although  his  wife's  hold  on  him  had  been  but 
feeble),  that  he  should  have  been  detained  there  so  long.  The  same 
feeling  of  eagerness  and  excitement  was  amongst  all  those  friends  of 
his  of  whom  we  have  had  occasional  glimpses,  from  the  stout  senior 
Major,  who  led  the  regiment  into  action,  to  little  Stubble,  the  Ensign, 
who  was  to  bear  its  colours  on  that  day. 

The  sun  was  just  rising  as  the  march  began — it  was  a  gallant 
sight — the  band  led  the  column,  playing  the  regimental  march — then 
came  the  Major  in  command,  riding  upon  Pyramus,  his  stout  charger 
— then  marched  the  grenadiers,  their  Captain  at  their  head ;  in  the 
centre  were  the  colours,  borne  by  the  senior  and  junior  Ensigns — 
then  George  came  marching  at  the  head  of  his  company.  He  looked 
up,  and  smiled  at  Amelia,  and  passed  on ;  and  even  the  sound  of 
the  music  died  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IN  WHICH  JOS  SEDLEY  TAKES  CARE  OF  HIS  SISTER 

THUS  all  the  superior  officers  being  summoned  on  duty  else- 
where, Jos  Sedley  was  left  in  command  of  the  little  colony  at 
Brussels,  with  Ameha  invalided,  Isidor,  his  Belgian  servant, 
and  the  bonne,  who  was  maid-of-all-work  for  the  establishment,  as  a 
garrison  under  him.  Though  he  was  disturbed  in  spirit,  and  his 
rest  destroyed  by  Dobbin's  interruption  and  the  occurrences  of  the 
morning,  Jos  nevertheless  remained  for  many  hours  in  bed,  wakeful 
and  rolling  about  there  until  his  usual  hour  of  rising  had  arrived. 
The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  and  our  gallant  friends  of  the 
— ^th  miles  on  their  march,  before  the  civilian  appeared  in  his  flowered 
dressing-gown  at  breakfast. 

About  George's  absence,  his  brother-in-law  was  very  easy  in  mind. 
Perhaps  Jos  was  rather  pleased  in  his  heart  that  Osborne  was  gone, 
for  during  George's  presence  the  other  had  played  but  a  very 
secondary  part  in  the  household,  and  Osborne  did  not  scruple  to 
show  his  contempt  for  the  stout  civilian.  But  Emmy  had  always 
been  good  and  attentive  to  him.  It  was  she  who  ministered  to  his 
comforts,  who  superintended  the  dishes  that  he  liked,  who  walked 
or  rode  with  him  (as  she  had  many,  too  many,  opportunities  of  doing, 
for  where  was  George  1)  and  who  interposed  her  sweet  face  between 
his  anger  and  her  husband's  scorn.  Many  timid  remonstrances  had 
she  uttered  to  George  in  behalf  of  her  brother,  but  the  former  in 
his  trenchant  way  cut  these  entreaties  short.  "I'm  an  honest 
man,"  he  said,  "  and  if  I  have  a  feehng  I  show  it,  as  an  honest 
man  will.  How  the  deuce,  my  dear,  would  you  have  me  behave 
respectfully  to  such  a  fool  as  your  brother  ? "  So  Jos  was  pleased 
with  George's  absence.  His  plain  hat,  and  gloves  on  a  side- 
board, and  the  idea  that  the  owner  was  away,  caused  Jos  I  don't 
know  what  secret  thrill  of  pleasure.  "  He  won't  be  troubling 
me  this  morning,"  Jos  thought,  "with  his  dandified  airs  and  his 
impudence." 

"  Put  the  Captain's  hat  into  the  anteroom,"  he  said  to  Isidor, 
the  servant. 

"  Perhaps  he  won't  want  it  again,"  replied  the  lackey,  looking 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  287 

knowingly  at  his  master.     He.Jiate4-Goorgo  toOpwJK)se-inHn1enr,e 

towards  him  was  quite  of  the  English  sort. 

' — "And  ask  if  Madame  is  coming  to  breakfast,"  Mr.  Sedley  said 
with  great  majesty,  ashamed  to  ent^^with  a  servant  upon  the  subject 
of  his  dislike  for  George.  The  tmth  is,  he  had  abused  his  brother 
to  the  valet  a  score  of  times  before. 

Alas  !  Madame  could  not  come  to  breakfast,  and  cut  the  tartines 
that  Mr.  Jos  liked.  Madame  was  a  great  deal  too  ill,  and  had  been 
in  a  frightful  state  ever  since  her  husband's  departure,  so  her  bo7i7ie 
said.  Jos  showed  his  sympathy  by  pouring  her  out  a  large  cup  of 
tea.  It  was  his  way  of  exhibiting  kindness :  and  he  improved  on 
this ;  he  not  only  sent  her  breakfast,  but  he  bethought  him  what 
delicacies  she  would  most  like  for  dinner. 

Isidor,  the  valet,  had  looked  on  very  sulkily,  while  Osborne's 
servant  was  disposing  of  his  master's  baggage  previous  to  the 
Captain's  departure :  for  in  the  first  place  he  hated  Mr.  Osborne, 
whose  conduct  to  him,  and  to  all  inferiors,  was  generally  overbearing 
(nor  does  the  continental  domestic  like  to  be  treated  with  insolence 
as  our  own  better-tempered  servants  do) :  and  secondly,  he  was  angry 
that  so  many  valuables  should  be  removed  from  under  his  hands,  to 
fall  into  other  people's  possession  when  the  English  discomfiture 
should  arrive.  Of  this  defeat  he  and  a  vast  number  of  other  persons 
in  Brussels  and  Belgium  did  not  make  the  slightest  doubt.  The 
almost  universal  belief  was,  that  the  Emperor  would  divide  the 
Prussian  and  English  armies,  annihilate  one  after  the  other,  and 
march  into  Brussels  before  three  days  were  over :  when  all  the 
movables  of  his  present  masters,  who  would  be  killed,  or  fugitives,  or 
prisoners,  would  lawfully  become  the  property  of  Monsieiu-  Isidor. 

As  he  helped  Jos  through  his  toilsome  and  complicated  daily 
toilette,  this  faithful  servant  would  calculate  what  he  should  do 
with  the  very  articles  with  which  he  was  decorating  his  master's 
person.  He  would  make  a  present  of  the  silver  essence-bottles  and 
toilet  knicknacks  to  a  young  lady  of  whom  he  was  fond ;  and  keep 
the  English  cutlery  and  the  large  ruby  pin  for  himself.  It  would 
look  very  smart  upon  one  of  the  fine  frilled  shirts,  which,  with  the 
gold-laced  cap  and  the  frogged  frock-coat,  that  might  easily  be  cut 
down  to  suit  his  shape,  and  the  Captain's  gold-headed  cane,  and  the 
great  double  ring  with  the  rubies,  which  he  would  have  made  into  a 
pair  of  beautiful  earrings,  he  calculated  would  make  a  perfect  Adonis 
of  himself,  and  render  Mademoiselle  Reine  an  easy  prey.  "  How 
those  sleeve-buttons  will  suit  me ! "  thought  he,  as  he  fixed  a  pair 
on  the  fat  pudgy  wrists  of  Mr.  Sedley.  "  I  long  for  sleeve-buttons  ; 
and  the  Captain's  boots  with  brass  spurs,  in  the  next  room,  cm-bleu  ! 
what  an  effect  they  will  make  in  the  -AJl^e  Verte  ! "     So  while 


288  VANITY    FAIR 

Monsieur  Isidor  with  bodily  fingers  was  holding  on  to  his  master's 
nose,  and  shaving  the  lower  part  of  Jos's  face,  his  imagination  was 
rambling  along  the  Green  Avenue,  dressed  out  in  a  frogged  coat  and 
lace,  and  in  company  with  Mademoiselle  Reine ;  he  was  loitering  in 
spirit  on  the  banks,  and  examining  the  barges  sailing  slowly  under 
the  cool  shadows  of  the  trees  by  the  canal,  or  refreshing  himself  with 
a  mug  of  Faro  at  the  bench  of  a  beerhouse  on  the  road  to  Laeken. 

But  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley,  luckily  for  his  own  peace,  no  more  knew 
what  was  passing  in  his  domestic's  mind  than  the  respected  reader, 
and "  I  suspect  what  John  or  Mary,  whose  wages  we  pay,  think  of 
ourselves.  What  our  servants  think  of  us ! — Did  we  know  what 
our  intimates  and  dear  "relations  thought  of  us,  we  should  live  in  a 
world  that  we  should  be  glad  to  quit,  and  in  a  frame  of  mind  and  a 
constant  terror,  that  would  be  perfectly  unbearable.  So  Jos's  man 
was  marking  his  victim  down,  as  you  see  one  of  Mr.  Paynter's 
assistants  in  Leadenhall  Street  ornament  an  unconscious  turtle  with 
a  placard  on  which  is  written,  "  Soup  to-morrow." 

Amelia's  attendant  was  much  less  selfishly  disposed.  Few 
dependants  could  come  near  that  kind  and  gentle  creature  without 
paying  their  usual  tribute  of  loyalty  and  affection  to  her  sweet  and 
affectionate  nature.  And  it  is  a  fact  that  Pauline,  the  cook,  con- 
soled her  mistress  more  than  anybody  whom  she  saw  on  this  wretched 
morning ;  for  when  she  found  how  Amelia  remained  for  hours,  silent, 
motionless,  and  haggard,  by  the  windows  in  which  she  had  placed 
herself  to  watch  the  last  bayonets  of  the  column  as  it  marched  away, 
the  honest  girl  took  the  lady's  hand,  and  said,  Tenez,  Madame,  est- 
ce  quHl  rCest  pas  aussi  a  Varmee,  mon  homme  a  moi  ?  with  which 
she  burst  into  tears,  and  Amelia  falling  into  her  arms,  did  likewise, 
and  so  each  pitied  and  soothed  the  other. 

Several  times  during  the  forenoon  Mr.  Jos's  Isidor  went  from 
his  lodgings  into  the  town,  and  to  the  gates  of  the  hotels  and  lodging- 
houses  round  about  the  Pare,  where  the  English  were  congregated, 
and  there  mingled  with  other  valets,  couriers,  and  lackeys,  gathered 
such  news  as  was  abroad,  and  brought  back  bulletins  for  his  master's 
information.  Almost  all  these  gentlemen  were  in  heart  partisans  of 
the  Emperor,  and  had  their  opinions  about  the  speedy  end  of  the 
campaign.  The  Emperor's  proclamation  from  Avesnes  had  been 
distributed  everywhere  plentifully  in  Brussels.  "  Soldiers  ! "  it  said, 
"  this  is  the  anniversary  of  Marengo  and  Friedland,  by  which  the 
destinies  of  Europe  were  twice  decided.  Then,  as  after  Austerhtz, 
as  after  Wagram,  we  were  too  generous.  We  believed  in  the  oaths 
and  promises  of  princes  whom  we  suffered  to  remain  upon  their 
thrones.     Let  us  march  once  more  to  meet  them.     We  and  they, 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  289 

are  we  not  still  the  same  men  1  Soldiers  !  these  same  Prussians 
who  are  so  arrogant  to-day,  were  three  to  one  against  you  at 
Jena,  and  six  to  one  at  Montmirail.  Those  among  you  who  were 
prisoners  in  England  can  tell  their  ;eomrades  what  frightful  torments 
they  suffered  on  board  the  English  hulks.  Madmen !  a  moment 
of  prosperity  has  blinded  them,  and  if  they  enter  into  France  it 
will  be  to  find  a  grave  there ! "  But  the  partisans  of  the  French 
prophesied  a  more  speedy  extermination  of  the  Emperor's  enemies 
than  this ;  and  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  Pmssians  and 
British  would  never  return  except  as  prisoners  in  the  rear  of  the 
conquering  army. 

These  opinions  in  the  course  of  the  day  were  brought  to  operate 
upon  Mr.  Sedley.  He  was  told  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had 
gone  to  try  and  rally  his  army,  the  advance  of  which  had  been  utterly 
crushed  the  night  before. 

"  Crushed,  psha ! "  said  Jos,  whose  heart  was  pretty  stout  at 
breakfast-time.  "  The  Duke  has  gone  to  beat  the  Emperor  as  he 
has  beaten  all  his  generals  before." 

"  His  papers  are  burned,  his  effects  are  removed,  and  his  quarters 
are  being  got  ready  for  the  Duke  of  Dalmatia,"  Jos's  informant 
replied.  "  I  had  it  from  his  own  maitre  dJhoiel.  Milor  Due  de 
Richemont's  people  are  packing  up  everything.  His  Grace  has  fled 
already,  and  the  Duchess  is  only  waiting  to  see  the  plate  packed  to 
join  the  King  of  France  at  Ostend." 

"  The  King  of  France  is  at  Ghent,  fellow,"  replied  Jos,  aflfecting 
incredulity. 

"  He  fled  last  night  to  Bruges,  and  embarks  to-day  from  Ostend. 
The  Due  de  Berri  is  taken  prisoner.  Those  who  wish  to  be  safe  had 
better  go  soon,  for  the  dykes  will  be  opened  to-morrow,  and  who  can 
fly  when  the  whole  country  is  under  water  % " 

"  Nonsense,  sir,  we  are  three  to  one,  sir,  against  any  force  Boney 
can  bring  into  the  field,"  Mr.  Sedley  objected ;  "the  Austrians  and 
the  Russians  are  on  their  march.  He  must,  he  shall  be  crushed," 
Jos  said,  slapping  his  hand  on  the  table. 

"The  Prussians  were  three  to  one  at  Jena,  and  he  took  their 
army  and  kingdom  in  a  week.  They  were  six  to  one  at  Montmirail, 
and  he  scattered  them  like  sheep.  The  Austrian  army  ii  coming, 
but  with  the  Empress  and  the  King  of  Rome  at  its  head ;  and  the 
Russians,  bah  !  the  Russians  will  withdraw.  No  quarter  is  to  be 
given  to  the  English,  on  account  of  their  cruelty  to  our  braves  on 
board  the  infamous  pontoons.  Look  here,  here  it  is  in  black  and 
white.  Here's  the  proclamation  of  his  Majesty  the  Emperor  and 
King,"  said  the  now  declared  partisan  of  Napoleon,  and  taking  the 
document  from  his  pocket,  Isidor  sternly  thrust  it  into  his  master's 


290  VANITY    FAIR 

face,  and  already  looked  upon  the  frogged  coat  and  valuables  as  his 
own  spoil. 

Jos  was,  if  not  seriously  alarmed  as  yet,  at  least  considerably 
disturbed  in  mind.  "  Give  me  my  coat  and  cap,  sir,"  said  he,  "  and 
follow  me.  I  will  go  myself  and  learn  the  truth  of  these  reports." 
Isidor  was  furious  as  Jos  put  on  the  braided  frock.  "  Milor  had 
better  not  wear  that  military  coat,"  said  he ;  "  the  Frenchmen  have 
sworn  not  to  give  quarter  to  a  single  British  soldier." 

"  Silence,  sirrah  ! "  said  Jos,  with  a  resolute  countenance  still, 
and  thrust  his  arm  into  the  sleeve  with  indomitable  resolution,  in 
the  performance  of  which  heroic  act  he  was  found  by  Mrs.  Rawdon 
Crawley,  who  at  this  juncture  came  up  to  visit  Amelia,  and  entered 
without  ringing  at  the  antechamber  door. 

Rebecca  was  dressed  very  neatly  and  smartly  as  usual :  her  quiet 
sleep  after  Rawdon's  departure  had  refreshed  her,  and  her  pink 
smiling  cheeks  were  quite  pleasant  to  look  at,  in  a  town  and  on  a 
day  when  everybody  else's  countenance  wore  the  appearance  of  the 
deepest  anxiety  and  gloom.  She  laughed  at  the  attitude  in  which 
Jos  was  discovered,  and  the  struggles  and  convulsions  with  which 
the  stout  gentleman  thrust  himself  into  the  braided  coat. 

"  Are  you  preparing  to  join  the  army,  Mr.  Joseph  1 "  she  said. 
"  Is  there  to  be  nobody  left  in  Brussels  to  protect  us  poor  women  1 " 
Jos  succeeded  in  plunging  into  the  coat,  and  came  forward  blushing 
and  stuttering  out  excuses  to  his  fair  visitor.  "  How  was  she  after 
the  events  of  the  morning— after  the  fatigues  of  the  ball  the  night 
before?"  Monsieur  Isidor  disappeared  into  his  master's  adjacent 
bedroom,  bearing  off  the  flowered  dressing-gown. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  ask  ! "  said  she,  pressing  one  of  his  hands 
in  both  her  own.  "  How  cool  and  collected  you  look  when  every- 
body else  is  frightened  !  How  is  our  dear  Httle  Emmy  1  It  must 
have  been  an  awful,  awful  parting." 

"Tremendous,"  Jos  said. 

"  You  men  can  bear  anything,"  replied  the  lady.  "  Parting  or 
danger  are  nothing  to  you.  Own  now  that  you  were  going  to  join 
the  army  and  leave  us  to  our  fate.  I  know  you  were — something 
tells  me  you  were.  I  was  so  frightened,  Avhen  the  thought  came 
into  my  head  (for  I  do  sometimes  think  of  you  when  I  am  alone, 
Mr.  Joseph),  that  I  ran  off  immediately  to  beg  and  entreat  you  not 
to  fly  from  us." 

This  speech  might  be  interpreted,  "  My  dear  sir,  should  an  acci- 
dent befall  the  army,  and  a  retreat  be  necessary,  you  have  a  very 
comfortable  carriage,  in  which  I  propose  to  take  a  seat,"  I  don't 
know  whether  Jos  understood  the  words  in  this  se^ise.  But  he  was 
profoundly  mortified  by  the  lady's  inattention  to  him  during  their 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  291 

stay  at  Brussels.  He  had  never  been  presented  to  any  of  Rawdon 
Crawley's  great  acquaintances :  he  had  scarcely  been  invited  to 
Rebecca's  parties ;  for  he  was  too  timid  to  play  much,  and  his 
presence  bored  George  and  Rawdoft  equally,  who  neither  of  them, 
perhaps,  liked  to  have  a  witness  of  the  amusements  in  which  the 
pair  chose  to  indulge.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  Jos,  "  now  she  wants  me 
she  comes  to  me.  When  there  is  nobody  else  in  the  way  she  can 
think  about  old  Joseph  Sedley  ! "  But  besides  these  doubts  he  felt 
flattered  at  the  idea  Rebecca  expressed  of  his  courage. 

He  blushed  a  good  deal,  and  put  on  an  air  of  importance.  "  I 
should  like  to  see  the  action,"  he  said.  "  Every  man  of  any  spirit 
would,  you  know.  I've  seen  a  little  service  in  India,  but  nothing 
on  this  grand  scale." 

"You  men  would  sacrifice  anything  for  a  pleasure,"  Rebecca 
answered.  "  Captain  Crawley  left  me  this  morning  as  gay  as  if  he 
were  going  to  a  hunting  party.  What  does  he  care  ?  What  do  any 
of  you  care  for  the  agonies  and  tortures  of  a  poor  forsaken  woman  1 
(I  wonder  whether  he  could  really  have  been  going  to  the  troops, 
this  great  lazy  gourmand  1)  Oh  !  dear  Mr.  Sedley,  I  have  come  to 
you  for  comfort — for  consolation.  I  have  been  on  my  knees  all  the 
morning.  I  tremble  at  the  frightful  danger  into  which  our  husbands, 
oiu"  friends,  our  brave  troops  and  allies,  are  rushing.  And  I  come 
here  for  shelter,  and  find  another  of  my  friends — the  last  remaining 
to  me — bent  upon  plunging  into  the  dreadful  scene  ! " 

"My  dear  madam,"  Jos  replied,  now  beginning  to  be  quite 
soothed,  "  don't  be  alarmed.  I  only  said  I  should  like  to  go — what 
Briton  would  not  1  But  my  duty  keeps  me  here  :  I  can't  leave  that 
poor  creature  in  the  next  room."  And  he  pointed  with  his  finger  to 
the  door  of  the  chamber  in  which  Amelia  was. 

"  Good  noble  brother  !  "  Rebecca  said,  putting  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes,  and  smelling  the  eau-de-cologne  with  which  it  was  scented. 
"  I  have  done  you  injustice  :  you  have  got  a  heart.  I  thought  you 
had  not." 

"  Oh,  upon  my  honour ! "  Jos  said,  making  a  motion  as  if  he 
would  lay  his  hand  upon  the  spot  in  question.  "You  do  me 
injustice,  indeed  you  do — my  dear  Mrs.  Crawley." 

"I  do,  now  your  heart  is  true  to  your  sister.  But  I  remember 
two  years  ago — when  it  was  false  to  me  ! "  Rebecca  said,  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  turning  away  into  the 
window. 

Jos  blushed  violently.  That  organ  which  he  was  accused  by 
Rebecca  of  not  possessing  began  to  thump  tumultuously.  He  re- 
called the  days  when  he  had  fled  from  her,  and  the  passion  which 
had  once  inflamed  him — the  days  when  lie  had  driven  her  in  hie 

Q 


) 


292  VANITY    FAIR 

curricle  :  when  she  had  knit  the  green  purse  for  him  :  when  he  had 
sate  enraptured  gazing  at  her  white  arms  and  bright  eyes. 

"  I  know  you  think  me  ungrateful,"  Rebecca  continued,  coming 
out  of  the  window,  and  once  more  looking  at  him  and  addressing 
him  in  a  low  tremulous  voice.  "  Your  coldness,  your  averted  looks, 
your  manner  when  we  have  met  of  late — when  I  came  in  just  now, 
all  proved  it  to  me.  But  were  there  no  reasons  why  I  should  avoid 
you*?  Let  your  own  heart  answer  that  question.  Do  you  think 
my  husband  was  too  much  inclined  to  welcome  youl  The  only 
unkind  words  I  have  ever  had  from  him  (I  will  do  Captain  Crawley 
that  justice)  have  been  about  you — and  most  cruel,  cruel  words 
they  were." 

"  Good  gracious  !  what  have  I  done  1 "  asked  Jos  in  a  flurry  of 
pleasure  and  perplexity  ;  "  what  have  I  done — to — to 1 " 

"  Is  jealousy  nothing  1 "  said  Rebecca.  "  He  makes  me  miser- 
able about  you.  And  whatever  it  might  have  been  once — my  heart 
is  all  his.     I  am  innocent  now.     Am  I  not,  Mr.  Sedley  1 " 

All  Jos's  blood  tingled  with  delight,  as  he  surveyed  this  victim 
to  his  attractions.  A  few  adroit  words,  one  or  two  knowing  tender 
glances  of  the  eyes,  and  his  heart  was  inflamed  again  and  his  doubts 
and  suspicions  forgotten.  From  Solomon  downwards,  have  not 
wiser  men  than  he  been  cajoled  and  befooled  by  women  1  "If  the 
worst  comes  to  the  worst,"  Becky  thought,  "  my  retreat  is  secure ; 
and  I  have  aright-hand  seat  in  the  barouche." 

There  is  no  knowing  into  what  declarations  of  love  and  ardour 
the  tumultuous  passions  of  Mr.  Joseph  might  have  led  him,  if  Isidor 
the  valet  had  not  made  his  reappearance  at  this  minute,  and  begun 
to  busy  himself  about  the  domestic  affairs.  Jos,  who  was  just  going 
to  gasp  out  an  avowal,  choked  almost  with  the  emotion  that  he 
was  obliged  to  restrain.  Rebecca  too  bethought  her  that  it  was 
time  she  should  go  in  and  comfort  her  dearest  Amelia.  ^' Au 
revoir"  she  said,  kissing  her  hand  to  Mr.  Joseph,  and  tapped  gently 
at  the  door  of  his  sister's  apartment.  As  she  entered  and  closed 
the  door  on  herself,  he  sank  down  in  a  chair,  and  gazed  and  sighed 
and  puffed  portentously.  "  That  coat  is  very  tight  for  Milor,"  Isidor 
said,  still  having  his  eye  on  the  frogs ;  but  his  master  heard  him 
not :  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere :  now  glowing,  maddening,  upon 
the  contemplation  of  the  enchanting  Rebecca  :  anon  shrinking  guiltily 
before  the  vision  of  the  jealous  Rawdon  Crawley,  with  his  curhng, 
fierce  mustachios,  and  his  terrible  duelling  pistols  loaded  and  cocked. 

Rebecca's  appearance  struck  Amelia  with  terror,  and  made  her 
shrink  back.  It  recalled  her  to  the  world,  and  the  remembrance  of 
yesterday.  In  the  overpowering  fears  about  to-morrow  she  had  for- 
gotten Rebecca  — ^jealousy — everything  except  that  her  husband  was 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  293 

gone  and  was  in  danger.     Until  this  dauntless  worldling  came  in  and 
broke  the  spell,  and  lifted  the  latch,  we  too  have  forborne  to  enter 
into  that  sad  chamber.     How  long,  had  that  poor  girl  been  on  her 
knees  !  what  hours  of  speechless  prayer  and  bitter  prostation  had  she 
passed  there  !     The  war-chroniclers  who  write  brilliant  stories  of  fight 
and  triumph  scarcely  tell  us  of  these.     These  are  too  mean  parts  of-x 
the  pageant :  and  you  don't  hear  widows'  cries  or  mothers'  sobs  in    j 
the  midst  of  the  shouts  and  jubilation  in  the  great  Chorus  of  Victory./ 
And  yet  when  was  the  time,  that  such  have  not  cried  out :  heart- 
broken, humble  Protestants,  unheard  in  the  uproar  of  the  triumph  ! 

After  the  first  movement  of  terror  in  Amelia's  mind — when 
Rebecca's  green  eyes  lighted  upon  her,  and  rustling  in  her  fresh  silks 
and  brilliant  ornaments,  the  latter  tripped  up  with  extended  arms 
to  embrace  her — a  feeling  of  anger  succeeded,  and  from  being  deadly 
pale  before,  her  face  flushed  up  red,  and  she  returned  Rebecca's  look 
after  a  moment  with  a  steadiness  which  surprised  and  somewhat 
abashed  her  rival. 

"  Dearest  Amelia,  you  are  very  unwell,"  the  visitor  said,  putting 
forth  her  hand  to  take  Amelia's.  "  What  is  it  ?  I  could  not  rest 
until  I  knew  how  you  were." 

Amelia  drew  back  her  hand — never  since  her  life  began  had  that 
gentle  soul  refused  to  believe  or  to  answer  any  demonstration  of  good- 
will or  affection.  But  she  drew  back  her  hand,  and  trembled  all 
over.  "  Why  are  you  here,  Rebecca  ?  "  she  said,  still  looking  at  her 
solemnly  with  her  large  eyes.     These  glances  troubled  her  visitor. 

"  She  must  have  seen  him  give  me  the  letter  at  the  ball,"  Rebecca 
thought.  "  Don't  be  agitated,  dear  Amelia,"  she  said,  looking  down. 
"  I  came  but  to  see  if  I  could — if  you  were  well." 

"  Are  you  well  1 "  said  Amelia.  "  I  dare  say  you  are.  You  don't 
love  your  husband.  You  would  not  be  here  if  you  did.  Tell  me, 
Rebecca,  did  I  ever  do  you  anything  but  kindness  1 " 

"  Indeed,  Amelia,  no,"  the  other  said,  still  hanging  down  her  head. 

"  When  you  were  quite  poor,  who  was  it  that  befriended  you  ? 
Was  I  not  a  sister  to  you  %  You  saw  us  all  in  happier  days  before 
he  married  me.  I  was  all  in  all  then  to  him  ;  or  would  he  have 
given  up  his  fortune,  his  family,  as  he  nobly  did  to  make  me  happy  ? 
Why  did  you  come  between  my  love  and  me  ?  Who  sent  you  to 
separate  those  whom  God  joined,  and  take  my  darling's  heart  from 
me — my  own  husband  1  Do  you  think  you  could  love  him  as  I  did  ? 
His  love  was  everything  to  me.  You  knew  it,  and  wanted  to  rob 
me  of  it.  For  shame,  Rebecca ;  bad  and  wicked  woman — false  friend 
and  false  wife."  ,  — 

"Amelia,  I  protest  before  God,  I  have  done  my  husband  no 
wrong,"  Rebecca  said,  turning  from  her. 


294  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Have  you  done  me  no  wrong,  Rebeoca  1  You  did  not  succeed, 
but  you  tried.     Ask  your  heart  if  you  did  not." 

She  knows  nothing,  Rebecca  thought. 

"  He  came  back  to  me.  I  knew  he  would.  I  knew  that  no 
falsehood,  no  flattery,  could  keep  him  from  me  long.  I  knew  he 
would  come.     I  prayed  so  that  he  should." 

The  poor  girl  spoke  these  words  with  a  spirit  and  volubility 
whicli  Rebecca  had  never  before  seen  in  her,  and  before  which  the 
latter  was  quite  dumb.  "  But  what  have  I  done  to  you,"  she  con- 
tinued in  a  more  pitiful  tone,  "  that  you  should  try  and  take  him 
from  me  %  I  had  him  but  for  six  weeks.  You  might  have  spared 
me  those,  Rebecca.  And  yet,  from  the  very  first  day  of  our  wedding, 
you  came  and  blighted  it.  Now  he  is  gone,  are  you  come  to  see  how 
unhappy  I  am  1 "  she  continued.  "  You  made  me  wretched  enough 
for  the  past  fortnight :  you  might  have  spared  me  to-day." 

"  I — I  never  came  here,"  interposed  Rebecca,  with  unlucky  truth. 

"  No.  You  didn't  come.  You  took  him  away.  Are  you  come 
to  fetch  him  from  me  1 "  she  continued  in  a  wilder  tone.  "  He  was 
here,  but  he  is  gone  now.  There  on  that  very  sofa  he  sate.  Don't 
touch  it.  We  sate  and  talked  there.  I  was  on  his  knee,  and  my 
arms  were  round  his  neck,  and  we  said  '  Our  Father.'  Yes,  he  was 
here :  and  they  came  and  took  him  away,  but  he  promised  me  to 
come  back." 

"  He  will  come  back,  my  dear,"  said  Rebecca,  touchedjn  spite 
of  herself. 

—~~~"t<^  Look,"  said  Amelia,  "  this  is  his  sash — isn't  it  a  pretty  colour  1 " 
and  she  took  up  the  fringe  and  kissed  it.  She  had  tied  it  round  her 
waist  at  some  part  of  the  day.  She  had  forgotten  her  anger,  her 
jealousy,  the  very  presence  of  her  rival  seemingly.  For  she  walked 
silently  and  almost  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  towards  the  bed,  and 
began  to  smooth  down  George's  pillow. 

Rebecca  walked,  too,  silently  away.  "  How  is  Amelia  % "  asked 
Jos,  who  still  held  his  position  in  the  chair. 

"  There  should  be  somebody  with  her,"  said  Rebecca.  "  I  think 
she  is  very  unwell :  "  and  she  went  away  with  a  very  grave  face,  re- 
fusing Mr.  Sedley's  entreaties  that  she  would  stay  and  partake  of 
the  early  dinner  which  he  had  ordered. 

Rebecca  was  of  a  good-natured  and  obliging  disposition  ;  and  she 
liked  Amelia  rather  than  otherwise.  Even  her  hard  words,  reproach- 
ful as  they  were,  were  complimentary — the  groans  of  a  person  stinging 
under  defeat.  Meeting  Mrs.  O'Dowd,  wTibm  the  Dean's  sermons  had 
By  no  means  comforted,  and  who  was  walking  very  disconsolately  in 
the  Pare,  Rebecca  accosted  the  latter,  rather  to  the  surprise  of  the 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  295 

Major's  wife,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  such  marks  of  politeness 
from  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  and  informing  her  that  poor  little  Mrs. 
Osborne  was  in  a  desperate  condition,  and  almost  mad  with  grief, 
sent  off  the  good-natured  Irishwoi£an  straight  to  see  if  she  could 
console  her  young  favourite. 

"I've  cares  of  my  own  enough,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  said  gravely, 
"and  I  thought  poor  Amelia  would  be  little  wanting  for  company 
this  day.  But  if  she's  so  bad  as  you  say,  and  you  can't  attend  to 
her,  who  used  to  be  so  fond  of  her,  faith  I'll  see  if  I  can  be  of  service. 
And  so  good  marning  to  ye,  madam ; "  with  which  speech  and  a  toss 
of  her  head,  the  lady  of  the  repayther  took  a  farewell  of  Mrs.  Crawley, 
whose  company  she  by  no  means  courted. 

Becky  watched  her  marching  otf,  with  a  smile  on  her  lip.  She 
had  the  keenest  sense  of  humour,  and  the  Parthian  look  which  the 
retreating  Mrs.  O'Dowd  flung  over  her  shoulder  almost  upset  Mrs. 
Crawley's  gravity.  "My  service  to  ye,  me  fine  madam,  and  I'm 
glad  to  see  ye  so  cheerful,"  thought  Peggy.  "  It's  not  you  that  will 
cry  your  eyes  out  with  grief,  anyway."  And  with  this  she  passed 
on,  and  speedily  found  her  way  to  Mrs.  Osborne's  lodgings. 

The  poor  soul  was  still  at  the  bedside,  where  Rebecca  had  left 
her,  and  stood  almost  crazy  with  grief.  The  Major's  wife,  a  stronger- 
minded  woman,  endeavoured  her  best  to  comfort  her  young  friend. 
"  You  must  bear  up,  Amelia  dear,"  she  said  kindly,  "  for  he  mustn't 
find  you  ill  when  he  sends  for  you  after  the  victory.  It's  not  you 
are  the  only  woman  that  are  in  the  hands  of  God  this  day." 

"  I  know  that.  I  am  very  wicked,  very  weak,"  Amelia  said. 
She  knew  her  own  weakness  well  enough.  The  presence  of  the  more 
resolute  friend  checked  it,  however ;  and  she  was  the  better  of  this 
control  and  company.  They  went  on  till  two  o'clock ;  their  hearts 
were  with  the  column  as  it  marched  farther  and  farther  away. 
Dreadful  doubt  and  anguish — prayers  and  fears  and  griefs  unspeak- 
able— followed  the  regiment.  It  was  the  women's  tribute  to  the 
war.  It  taxes^both  alike,  and  takes  the  blood  of  the  men,_-and.  .the 
tears  of  the  woinenr  ~" 

At  half-past  two,  an  event  occurred  of  daily  importance  to  Mr. 
Joseph  :  the  dinner-hour  arrived.  Warriors  may  fight  and  perish, 
but  he  must  dine.  He  came  into  AmeHa's  room  to  see  if  he  could 
coax  her  to  share  that  meal.  "  Try,"  said  he ;  "  the  soup  is  very 
good.  Do  try,  Emmy,"  and  he  kissed  her  hand.  Except  when  she 
was  married,  he  had  not  done  so  much  for  years  before.  "  You  are 
very  good  and  kind,  Joseph,"  she  said.  "  Everybody  is,  but,  if  you 
please,  I  will  stay  in  my  room  to-day." 

The  savour  of  the  soup,  however,  was  agreeable  to  Mrs.  O'Dowd's 
nostrils ;  and  she  thought  she  would  bear  Mr.  Jos  company.    So  the 


1^6  VANITY    tkin 

two  sate  down  to  their  meal.  "God  bless  the  meat,"  said  the 
Major's  wife  solemnly  :  she  was  thinking  of  her  honest  Mick,  riding 
at  the  head  of  his  regiment :  "  Tis  but  a  bad  dinner  those  poor  boys 
will  get  to-day,"  she  said  with  a  sigh,  and  then,  like  a  philosopher, 
fell  to. 

Jos's  spirits  rose  with  his  meal.  He  would  drink  the  regiment's 
health;  or,  indeed,  take  any  other  excuse  to  indulge  in  a  glass  of 
champagne.  "We'll  drink  to  O'Dowd  and  the  brave  — th,"  said 
he,  bowing  gallantly  to  his  guest.  "  Hey,  Mrs.  O'Dowd  ?  Fill  Mrs. 
O'Dowd's  glass,  Isidor." 

But  all  of  a  sudden,  Isidor  started,  and  the  Major's  wife  laid 
down  her  knife  and  fork.  The  windows  of  the  room  were  open,  and 
looked  southward,  and  a  dull  distant  sound  came  over  the  sun-lighted 
roofs  from  that  direction.  "  "What  is  it  % "  said  Jos.  "  Why  don't 
you  pour,  you  rascal  ? " 

"  C^est  le  feu !  "  said  Isidor,  running  to  the  balcony. 

"  God  defend  us ;  it's  cannon  ! "  Mrs.  O'Dowd  cried,  starting  up, 
and  followed  too  to  the  window.  A  thousand  pale  and  anxious 
faces  might  have  been  seen  looking  from  other  casements.  And 
presently  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  population  of  the  city  rushed 
into  the  streets. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

IN  WHICH  JOS  TAKES  FLIGHT,  AND  THE  WAR  IS  BROUGHT 
TO  A  CLOSE 

WE  of  peaceful  London  City  have  never  beheld — and  please 
God  never  shall  witness — such  a  scene  of  hurry  and 
alarm  as  that  which  Brussels  presented.  Crowds  rushed 
to  the  Namur  gate,  from  which  direction  the  noise  proceeded,  and 
many  rode  along  the  level  ckaussee,  to  be  in  advance  of  any  intelli- 
gence from  the  army.  Each  man  asked  his  neighbour  for  news ; 
and  even  great  English  lords  and  ladies  condescended  to  speak  to 
persons  whom  they  did  not  know.  The  friends  of  the  French  went 
abroad,  wild  with  excitement,  and  prophesying  the  triiunph  of  their 
Emperor.  The  merchants  closed  their  shops,  and  came  out  to  swell 
the  general  chorus  of  alarm  and  clamour.  Women  rushed  to  the 
churches,  and  crowded  the  chapels,  and  knelt  and  prayed  on  the 
flags  and  steps.  The  dull  sound  of  the  cannon  went  on  rolling, 
rolling.  Presently  carriages  with  travellers  began  to  leave  the 
town,  galloping  away  by  the  Ghent  barrier.  The  prophecies  of  the 
French  partisans  began  to  pass  for  facts.  "  He  has  cut  the  armies 
in  two,"  it  was  said.  "  He  is  marching  straight  on  Brussels.  He 
will  overpower  the  English,  and  be  here  to-night."  "  He  will  over- 
power the  English,"  shrieked  Isidor  to  his  master,  "and  will  be 
here  to-night."  The  man  bounded  in  and  out  from  the  lodgings  to 
the  street,  always  returning  with  some  fresh  particulars  of  disaster. 
Jos's  face  grew  paler  and  paler.  Alarm  began  to  take  entire  posses- 
sion of  the  stout  civilian.  All  the  champagne  he  drank  brought  no 
courage  to  him.  Before  sunset  he  was  worked  up  to  such  a  pitch 
of  nervousness  as  gratified  his  friend  Isidor  to  behold,  who  now 
counted  surely  upon  the  spoils  of  the  owner  of  the  laced  coat. 

The  women  were  away  all  this  time.  After  hearing  the  firing 
for  a  moment,  the  stout  Major's  wife  bethought  her  of  her  friend  in 
the  next  chamber,  and  ran  in  to  watch,  and  if  possible  to  console, 
Amelia.  The  idea  that  she  had  that  helpless  and  gentle  creature 
to  protect,  gave  additional  strength  to  the  natural  courage  of  the 
honest  Irishwoman.  She  passed  five  hours  by  her  Mend's  side, 
sometimes  in  remonstrance,  sometimes  talking  cheerfully,  oftener  in 


298  VANITY    FAIR 

silence,  and  terrified  mental  supplication.  "I  never  let  go  her 
hand  once,"  said  the  stout  lady  afterwards,  "until  after  sunset, 
when  the  firing  was  over."  Pauline,  the  bonne,  was  on  her  knees 
at  church  hard  by,  praying  for  son  homme  a  elle. 

When  the  noise  of  the  cannonading  was  over,  Mrs.  O'Dowd 
issued  out  of  Amelia's  room  into  the  parlour  adjoining,  where  Jos 
sate  with  two  emptied  flasks,  and  courage  entirely  gone.  Once  or 
twice  he  had  ventured  into  his  sister's  bedroom,  looking  very  much 
alarmed,  and  as  if  he  would  say  something.  But  the  Major's  wife 
kept  her  place,  and  he  went  away  without  disburthening  himself  of 
his  speech.     He  was  ashamed  to  tell  her  that  he  wanted  to  fly. 

But  when  she  made  her  appearance  in  the  dining-room,  where 
he  sate  in  the  twilight  in  the  cheerless  company  of  his  empty 
champagne-bottles,  he  began  to  open  his  mind  to  her. 

"Mrs.  O'Dowd,"  he  said,  "hadn't  you  better  get  Amelia 
ready?" 

"Are  you  going  to  take  her  out  for  a  walk?"  said  the  Major's 
lady ;  "  sure  she's  too  weak  to  stir." 

"  I — I've  ordered  the  carriage,"  he  said,  "  and — and  post-horses ; 
Isidor  is  gone  for  them,"  Jos  continued. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  driving  to-night  1 "  answered  the  lady. 
"  Isn't  she  better  on  her  bed  1     I've  just  got  her  to  lie  down." 

"  Get  her  up,"  said  Jos ;  "  she  must  get  up,  I  say : "  and  he 
stamped  his  foot  energetically.  "  I  say  the  horses  are  ordered — 
yes,  the  horses  are  ordered.     It's  all  over,  and " 

"And  what?"  asked  Mrs.  O'Dowd. 

"  I'm  off"  for  Ghent,"  Jos  answered.  "  Everybody  is  going ; 
there's  a  place  for  you !     We  shall  start  in  half-an-hour." 

The  Major's  wife  looked  at  him  with  infinite  scorn.  "  I  don't 
move  till  O'Dowd  gives  me  the  route,"  said  she.  "  You  may  go  if 
you  like,  Mr.  Sedley ;  but,  faith,  Amelia  and  I  stop  here." 

"She  shall  go,"  said  Jos,  with  another  stamp  of  his  foot. 
Mrs.  O'Dowd  put  herself  with  arms  akimbo  before  the  bedroom 
door. 

"Is  it  her  mother  you're  going  to  take  her  to ? "  she  said ;  "or 
do  you  want  to  go  to  mamma  yourself,  Mr.  Sedley  ?  Good  marning 
— a  pleasant  journey  to  ye,  sir.  Bon  voyage,  as  they  say,  and  take 
my  counsel,  and  shave  off  them  mustachios,  or  they'll  bring  you 
into  mischief." 

"  D — n  ! "  yelled  out  Jos,  wild  with  fear,  rage,  and  mortifica- 
tion; and  Isidor  came  in  at  this  juncture,  swearing  in  his  turn. 
"  Pas  de  chevaux,  sacrebleu  1 "  hissed  out  the  furious  domestic. 
All  the  horses  were  gone.  Jos  was  not  the  only  man  in  Brussels 
seized  with  panic  that  day. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  299 

But  Job's  fears,  great  and  cruel  as  they  were  already,  were 
destined  to  increase  to  an  almost  frantic  pitch  before  the  night  was 
over.     It  has  been  mentioned  how  Pauline,  the  honne,  had  son 
homme  a  elle  also  in  the  ranks  of /the  army  that  had  gone  out  to 
meet  the  Emperor  Napoleon.     This  lover  was  a  native  of  Brussels, 
and  a  Belgian  hussar.     The  troops  of  his  nation  signahsed  them- 
selves in  this  war  for  anything  but  courage,  and  young  Van  Cutsum, 
Pauline's  admirer,  was  too  good  a  soldier  to  disobey  his  Colonel's 
orders  to  run  away.     Whilst  in  garrison  at  Brussels  young  Regulus         s^ 
(he  had  been  bom  in  the  revolutionary  times)  found  his  great  com-         \y{ 
fort,  and  passed  almost  all  his  leisure  moments  in  Pauline's  kitchen;        ^ 
and  it  was  with  pockets  and  holsters  crammed  full  of  good  things        '^ 
from  her  larder,  that  he  had  taken  leave  of  his  weeping  sweetheart, 
to  proceed  upon  the  campaign  a  few  days  before.  is^ 

As  far  as  his  regiment  was  concerned,  this  campaign  was  over 
now.     They  had  formed  a  part  of  the  division  under  the  command 
of  his  Sovereign  apparent,  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and  as  respected  1 
length  of  swords  and  mustachios,  and  the  richness  of  uniform  and  '^ 
equipments,  Regulus  and  his  comrades  looked  to  be  as  gallant  a  \     ^ 
body  of  men  as  ever  trumpet  soimded  for. 

When  Ney  dashed  upon  the  advance  of  the  allied  troops,  carry- 
ing one  position  after  the  other,  imtil  the  arrival  of  the  great  body  ; 
of  the  British  army  from  Brussels  changed  the  aspect  of  the  combat 
of  Quatre  Bras,  the  squadrons  among  which  Regulus  rode  showed 
the  greatest  activity  in  retreating  before  the  French,  and  were  dis- 
lodged from  one  post  and  another  which  they  occupied  with  perfect 
alacrity  on  their  part.  Their  movements  were  only  checked  by  the 
advance  of  the  British  in  their  rear.  Thus  forced  to  halt,  the 
enemy's  cavalry  (whose  bloodthirsty  obstinacy  cannot  be  too  severely 
reprehended)  had  at  length  an  opportunity  of  coming  to  close 
quarters  with  the  brave  Belgians  before  them ;  who  preferred  to 
encounter  the  British  rather  than  the  French,  and  at  once  turning 
tail  rode  through  the  English  regiments  that  were  behind  them, 
and  scattered  in  all  directions.  The  regiment  in  fact  did  not  exist 
any  more.  It  was  nowhere.  It  had  no  headquarters.  Regulus 
found  himself  galloping  many  miles  from  the  field  of  action,  entirely 
alone;  and  whither  should  he  fly  for  refuge  so  naturally  as  to  that 
kitchen  and  those  faithftil  arms  in  which  Pauline  had  so  often 
welcomed  him? 

At  some  ten  o'clock  the  clinking  of  a  sabre  might  have  been 
heard  up  the  stair  of  the  house  where  the  Osbomes  occupied  a 
storey  in  the  continental  fashion.  A  knock  might  have  been  heard 
at  the  kitchen  door;  and  poor  Pauline,  come  back  from  church, 
fainted  almost  with  terror  as  she  opened  it  and  saw  before  her  her 
0* 


300  VANITY    FAIR 

haggard  hussar.  He  looked  as  pale  as  the  midnight  dragoon  who 
came  to  disturb  Leonora.  Pauline  would  have  screamed,  but  that 
her  cry  would  have  called  her  masters,  and  discovered  her  friend. 
She  stifled  her  scream,  then,  and  leading  her  hero  into  the  kitchen, 
gave  him  beer,  and  the  choice  bits  from  the  dinner  which  Jos  had 
not  had  the  heart  to  taste.  The  hussar  showed  he  was  no  ghost  by 
the  prodigious  quantity  of  flesh  and  beer  which  he  devoured — and 
during  the  mouthfuls  he  told  his  tale  of  disaster. 

His  regiment  had  performed  prodigies  of  courage,  and  had  with- 
stood for  a  while  the  onset  of  the  whole  French  anny.  But  they 
were  overwhelmed  at  last,  as  was  the  whole  British  army  by  this 
time.  Ney  destroyed  each  regiment  as  it  came  up.  The  Belgians 
in  vain  interposed  to  prevent  the  butchery  of  the  English.  The 
Bruns wickers  were  routed  and  had  fled — their  Duke  was  killed.  It 
was  a  general  d4hdcle.  He  sought  to  drown  his  sorrow  for  the  defeat 
in  floods  of  beer. 

Isidor,  who  had  come  into  the  kitchen,  heard  the  conversation 
and  rushed  out  to  inform  his  master.  "It  is  all  over,"  he  shrieked 
to  Jos.  "Milor  Duke  is  a  prisoner;  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  is 
killed ;  the  British  army  is  in  full  flight ;  there  is  only  one  man 
escaped,  and  he  is  in  the  kitchen  now — come  and  hear  him."  So 
Jos  tottered  into  that  apartment  where  Regulus  still  sate  on  the 
kitchen  table,  and  clung  fast  to  his  flagon  of  beer.  In  the  best 
French  which  he  could  muster,  and  which  was  in  sooth  of  a  very 
ungrammatical  sort,  Jos  besought  the  hussar  to  tell  his  tale.  The 
disasters  deepened  as  Regulus  spoke.  He  was  the  only  man  of  his 
regiment  not  slain  on  the  field.  He  had  seen  the  Duke  of  Brunswick 
fall,  the  black  hussars  fly,  the  Ecossais  pounded  down  by  the  cannon. 

"  And  the  — th  % "  gasped  Jos. 

"  Cut  in  pieces,"  said  the  hussar — upon  which  Pauline  cried  out, 
"Oh  my  mistress,  ma  bonne  petite  dame,^^  went  off  fairly  into  hysterics, 
and  filled  the  house  with  her  screams. 

Wild  with  terror,  Mr.  Sedley  knew  not  how  or  where  to  seek  for 
safety.  He  rushed  from  the  kitchen  back  to  the  sitting-room,  and 
cast  an  appealing  look  at  Amelia's  door,  which  Mrs.  O'Dowd  had 
closed  and  locked  in  his  face ;  but  he  remembered  how  scornfully 
the  latter  had  received  him,  and  after  pausing  and  listening  for  a 
brief  space  at  the  door,  he  left  it,  and  resolved  to  go  into  the  street,  for 
the  first  time  that  day.  So,  seizing  a  candle,  he  looked  about  for  his 
gold-laced  cap,  and  found  it  lying  in  its  usual  place,  on  a  console-table, 
in  the  anteroom,  placed  before  a  mirror  at  which  Jos  used  to  coquet, 
always  giving  his  side-locks  a  twirl,  and  his  cap  the  proper  cock  over 
his  eye,  before  he  went  forth  to  make  appearance  in  public.     Such 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  301 

is  the  force  of  habit,  that  even  in  the  midst  of  his  terror  he  began 
meclianically  to  twiddle  with  his  hair,  and  arrange  the  cock  of  his 
hat.  Then  he  looked  amazed  at  the  pale  face  in  the  glass  before 
him,  and  especially  at  his  mustachios,  which  had  attained  a  rich 
growth  in  the  course  of  near  seven  weeks,  since  they  had  come  into 
the  world.  They  will  mistake  me  for  a  military  man,  thought  he, 
remembering  Isidor's  warning,  as  to  the  massacre  with  which  all  the 
defeated  British  army  was  threatened ;  and  staggering  back  to  his 
bed-chamber,  he  began  wildly  pulling  the  bell  which  summoned 
his  valet. 

Isidor  answered  that  summons.  Jos  had  sunk  in  a  chair — he 
had  torn  off  his  neckcloths,  and  turned  down  his  collars,  and  was 
sitting  with  both  his  hands  lifted  to  his  throat. 

"  Coupez-moi,  Isidor,"  shouted  he ;  "  vite  !  Coupez-moi !  " 

Isidor  thought  for  a  moment  he  had  gone  mad,  and  that  he 
wished  his  valet  to  cut  his  throat. 

" Les  moustaches"  gasped  Jos ;  ^' les  moustaches — coupy,  rasy, 
vite  !  " — his  French  was  of  this  sort — voluble,  as  we  have  said,  but 
not  remarkable  for  grammar. 

Isidor  swept  off  the  mustachios  in  no  time  with  the  razor,  and 
heard  with  inexpressible  delight  his  master's  orders  that  he  should 
fetch  a  hat  and  a  plain  coat.  "  Ne  porty  ploo — habit  militair — 
bonny — bonny  a  voo,  prenny  dehors  " — were  Jos's  words, — the  coat 
and  cap  were  at  last  his  property. 

This  gift  being  made,  Jos  selected  a  plain  black  coat  and  waist- 
coat from  his  stock,  and  put  on  a  large  white  neckcloth,  and  a  plain 
beaver.  If  he  could  have  a  got  a  shovel-hat  he  would  have  worn  it. 
As  it  was,  you  would  have  fancied  he  was  a  flourishing,  large  parson 
of  the  Church  of  England. 

"  Venny  maintenong"  he  continued,  ^^  sweevy — ally — party — 
dong  la  roo"  And  so  having  said,  he  plunged  swiftly  down  the 
stairs  of  the  house,  and  passed  into  the  street. 

Although  Regulus  had  vowed  that  he  was  the  only  man  of  his 
regiment  or  of  the  allied  army,  almost,  who  had  escaped  being  cut 
to  pieces  by  Ney,  it  appeared  that  his  statement  was  incorrect,  and 
that  a  good  number  more  of  the  supposed  victims  had  survived  the 
massacre.  Many  scores  of  Regulus's  comrades  had  found  their  way 
back  to  Brussels,  and — all  agreeing  that  they  had  run  away — filled 
the  whole  town  with  an  idea  of  the  defeat  of  the  allies.  The  arrival 
of  the  French  was  expected  hourly ;  the  panic  continued,  and  pre- 
parations for  flight  went  on  everywhere.  No  horses !  thought  Jos 
in  terror.  He  made  Isidor  inquire  of  scores  of  persons,  whether 
they  had  any  to  lend  or  sell,  and  his  heart  sank  within  him,  at  the 
negative  answers  returned  everywhere.     Should  he  take  the  journey 


Soi  VANITY    FAIR 

on  foot?  Even  fear  could  not  render  that  ponderous  body  so 
active. 

Almost  all  the  hotels  occupied  by  the  English  in  Brussels  face 
the  Pare,  and  Jos  wandered  irresolutely  about  in  this  quarter,  with 
crowds  of  other  people,  oppressed  as  he  was  by  fear  and  curiosity. 
Some  families  he  saw  more  happy  than  himself,  having  discovered  a 
team  of  horses,  and  rattling  through  the  streets  in  retreat ;  others 
again  there  were  whose  case  was  like  his  own,  and  who  could  not 
for  any  bribes  or  entreaties  procure  the  necessary  means  of  flight. 
Amongst  these  would-be  fugitives,  Jos  remarked  the  Lady  Bareacres 
and  her  daughter,  who  sate  in  their  carriage  in  the  porte-cochere  of 
their  hotel,  all  their  imperials  packed,  and  the  only  drawback  to 
whose  flight  was  the  same  want  of  motive  power  which  kept  Jos 
stationary. 

Rebecca  Crawley  occupied  apartments  in  this  hotel;  and  had 
before  this  period  had  sundry  hostile  meetings  with  the  ladies  of  the 
Bareacres  family.  My  Lady  Bareacres  cut  Mrs.  Crawley  on  the 
stairs  when  they  met  by  chance ;  and  in  all  places  where  the  latter's 
name  was  mentioned,  spoke  perseveringly  ill  of  her  neighbour.  The 
Countess  was  shocked  at  the  familiarity  of  General  Tufto  with  the 
aide-de-camp's  wife.  The  Lady  Blanche  avoided  her  as  if  she  had 
been  an  infectious  disease.  Only  the  Earl  himself  kept  up  a  sly 
occasional  acquaintance  with  her,  when  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  his 
ladies. 

Rebecca  had  her  revenge  now  upon  these  insolent  enemies.  It 
became  known  in  the  hotel  that  Captain  Crawley's  horses  had  been 
left  behind,  and  when  the  panic  began.  Lady  Bareacres  condescended 
to  send  her  maid  to  the  Captain's  wife  with  her  Ladyship's  compli- 
ments, and  a  desire  to  know  the  price  of  Mrs.  Crawley's  horses. 
Mrs.  Crawley  returned  a  note  with  her  compliments,  and  an  inti- 
mation that  it  was  not  her  custom  to  transact  bargains  with  ladies' 
maids. 

This  curt  reply  brought  the  Earl  in  person  to  Becky's  apart- 
ment ;  but  he  could  get  no  more  success  than  the  first  ambassador. 
"Send  a  lady's  maid  to  me!"  Mrs.  Crawley  cried  in  gi-eat  anger; 
"why  didn't  my  Lady  Bareacres  tell  me  to  go  and  saddle  the 
horses  !  Is  it  her  Ladyship  that  wants  to  escape,  or  her  Ladyship's 
femme  de  chamhre  ?  "  And  this  was  all  the  answer  that  the  Earl 
bore  back  to  his  Countess. 

What  will  not  necessity  do  1  The  Countess  hei-self  actually  came 
to  wait  upon  Mrs.  Crawley  on  the  failure  of  her  second  envoy.  She 
entreated  her  to  name  her  own  price ;  she  even  offered  to  invite  Becky 
to  Bareacres  House,  if  the  latter  would  but  give  her  the  means  of 
returning  to  that  residence.     Mrs.  Crawley  sneered  at  her. 


y 


MR.  JOS   SHAVES   OFF  HIS   MUSTACHIOS. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  303 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  waited  on  by  bailiffs  in  livery,"  she  said ; 
"  you  will  never  get  back  though  most  probably — at  least  not  you 
and  your  diamonds  together.  Th^  French  will  have  thos^.  They 
will  be  here  in  two  hours,  and  I  shall  be  half-way  to  Ghent  by  that 
time.  I  would  not  sell  you  my  horses,  no,  not  for  the  two  largest 
diamonds  that  your  Ladyship  wore  at  the  ball."  Lady  Bareacres 
trembled  with  rage  and  terror.  The  diamonds  were  sewed  into  her 
habit,  and  secreted  in  my  Lord's  padding  and  boots.  "  Woman,  the 
diamonds  are  at  the  banker's,  and  I  will  have  the  horses,"  she  said. 
Rebecca  laughed  in  her  face.  The  infuriate  Countess  went  below, 
and  sate  in  her  carriage ;  her  maid,  her  courier,  and  her  husband 
were  sent  once  more  through  the  town,  each  to  look  for  cattle ;  and 
woe  betide  those  who  came  last !  Her  Ladyship  was  resolved  on 
departing  the  very  instant  the  horses  arrived  from  any  quarter — 
with  her  husband  or  without  him. 

Rebecca  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  Ladyship  in  the  horseless 
carriage,  and  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and  bewailing,  in  the 
loudest  tone  of  voice,  the  Countess's  perplexities.  "  Not  to  be  able 
to  get  horses ! "  she  said,  "  and  to  have  all  those  diamonds  sewed 
into  the  carriage  cushions  !  What  a  prize  it  will  be  for  the  French 
when  they  come  ! — the  carriage  and  the  diamonds,  I  mean ;  not  the 
lady  ! "  She  gave  this  information  to  the  landlord,  to  the  servants, 
to  the  guests,  and  the  innumerable  stragglers  about  the  courtyard. 
Lady  Bareacres  could  have  shot  her  from  the  carriage  window. 

It  was  while  enjoying  the  humiliation  of  her  enemy  that  Rebecca 
caught  sight  of  Jos,  who  made  towards  her  directly  he  perceived  her. 

That  altered,  frightened,  fat  face,  told  his  secret  well  enough. 
He  too  wanted  to  fly,  and  was  on  the  look-out  for  the  means  of 
escape.  "  He  shall  buy  my  horses,"  thought  Rebecca,  "  and  I'll 
ride  the  mare." 

Jos  walked  up  to  his  friend,  and  put  the  question  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  during  the  past  hour,  "  Did  she  know  where  horses  were 
to  be  had?" 

"  What,  you  fly  1 "  said  Rebecca,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  thought  you 
were  the  champion  of  all  the  ladies,  Mr.  Sedley." 

"  I — I'm  not  a  military  man,"  gasped  he. 

"And  Amelia? — Who  is  to  protect  that  poor  little  sister  of 
yours  ? "  asked  Rebecca.     "  You  surely  would  not  desert  her  ? " 

"  What  good  can  I  do  her,  suppose — suppose  the  enemy  arrive  1 " 
Jos  answered.  "  They'll  spare  the  women ;  but  my  man  tells  me 
that  they  have  taken  an  oath  to  give  no  quarter  to  the  men — the 
dastardly  cowards." 

"  Horrid  !  "  cried  Rebecca,  enjoying  his  perplexity. 

"  Besides,  I  don't  want  to  desert  her,"  cried  the  brother.     "  She 


304  VANITY    FAIR 

shanH  be  deserted.  There  is  a  seat  for  her  in  my  carriage,  and  one 
for  you,  dear  Mrs.  Crawley,  if  you  will  come ;  and  if  we  can  get 
horses "  sighed  he. 

"  I  have  two  to  sell,"  the  lady  said.  Jos  could  have  flung  him- 
self into  her  arms  at  the  news.  "  Get  the  carriage,  Isidor,"  he  cried ; 
"  we've  found  them — we  have  found  them." 

"My  horses  never  were  in  harness,"  added  the  lady.  "Bull- 
finch would  kick  the  carriage  to  pieces,  if  you  put  him  in  the 
traces." 

"  But  he  is  quiet  to  ride  1 "  asked  the  civilian. 

"  As  quiet  as  a  lamb,  and  as  fast  as  a  hare,"  answered  Rebecca. 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  up  to  my  weight  1 "  Jos  said.  He  was 
already  on  his  back,  in  imagination,  without  even  so  much  as  a 
thought  for  poor  Amelia.  What  person  who  loved  a  horse-specula- 
tion could  resist  such  a  temptation  1 

In  reply,  Rebecca  asked  him  to  come  into  her  room,  whither  he 

followed  her  quite  breathless  to  conclude  the  bargain.     Jos  seldom 

spent   a  half-hour  in   his  life  which   cost   him   so  much  money. 

Rebecca,  measuring  the  value  of  the  goods  which  she  had  for  sale 

by  Jos's  eagerness  to  purchase,  as  well  as  by  the  scarcity  of  the 

article,  put  upon  her  horses  a  price  so  prodigious  as  to  make  even 

the  civilian  draw  back.     "  She  would  sell  both  or  neither,"  she  said, 

resolutely.     Rawdon  had  ordered  her  not  to  part  with  them  for  a 

price  less  than  that  which  she  specified.     Lord  Bareacres  below 

would  give  her  the  same  money — and  with  all  her  love  and  regard 

for  the  Sedley  family,  her  dear  Mr.  Joseph  must  conceive  that  poor 

people  must  live — nobody,  in  a  word,  could  be  more  affectionate, 

but  more  firm  about  the  matter  of  business. 

yr        Jos  ended  by  agreeing,  as  might  be  supposed  of  him.     The  sum 

/  he  had  to  give  her  was  so  large  that  he  was  obliged  to  ask  for  time ; 

/    so  large  as  to  be  a  little  fortune  to  Rebecca,  who  rapidly  calculated 

j     that  with  this  sum,  and  the  sale  of  the  residue  of  Rawdon's  effects, 

\    and  her  pension  as  a  widow  should  he  fall,  she  would  now  be 

\  absolutely  independent  of  the  world,  and  might  look  her  weeds 

Nsteadily  in  the  face. 

Once  or  twice  in  the  day  she  certainly  had  herself  thought  about 
flying.  But  her  reason  gave  her  better  counsel.  "Suppose  the 
French  do  come,"  thought  Becky,  "what  can  they  do  to  a  poor 
officer's  widow  ?  Bah  !  The  times  of  sacks  and  sieges  are  over. 
We  shall  be  let  to  go  home  quietly,  or  I  may  live  pleasantly  abroad 
with  a  snug  little  income." 

Meanwhile  Jos  and  Isidor  went  off  to  the  stables  to  inspect  the 
newly-purchased  cattle.  Jos  bade  his  man  saddle  the  horses  at 
once.     He  would  ride  away  that  very  night,  that  very  hour.     And 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  305 

he  left  the  valet  busy  in  getting  the  horses  ready,  and  went  home 
wards  himself  to  prepare  for  his  departure.  It  must  be  secret.  He 
would  go  to  his  chamber  by  the  back  entrance.  He  did  not  care 
to  face  Mrs.  O'Dowd  and  Amelia;'  and  own  to  them  that  he  was 
about  to  run. 

By  the  time  Jos's  bargain  with  Rebecca  was  completed,  and  his 
horses  had  been  visited  and  examined,  it  was  almost  morning  once 
more.  But  though  midnight  was  long  passed,  there  was  no  rest  for 
the  city ;  the  people  were  up,  the  lights  in  the  houses  flamed, 
crowds  were  still  about  the  doors,  and  the  streets  were  busy. 
Rumours  of  various  natures  went  still  from  mouth  to  mouth :  one 
report  averred  that  the  Prussians  had  been  utterly  defeated ;  another 
that  it  was  the  English  who  had  been  attacked  and  conquered ;  a 
third  that  the  latter  had  held  their  ground.  This  last  rumour 
gradually  got  strength.  No  Frenchmen  had  made  their  appearance. 
Stragglers  had  come  in  from  the  army  bringing  reports  more  and 
more  favourable :  at  last  an  aide-de-camp  actually  reached  Brussels 
with  despatches  for  the  Commandant  of  the  place,  who  placarded 
presently  through  the  town  an  official  announcement  of  the  success 
of  the  allies  at  Quatre  Bras,  and  the  entire  repulse  of  the  French 
under  Ney  after  a  six  hours'  battle.  The  aide-de-camp  must  have 
arrived  some  time  while  Jos  and  Rebecca  were  making  their  bargain 
together,  or  the  latter  was  inspecting  his  purchase.  When  he 
reached  his  own  hotel,  he  found  a  score  of  its  numerous  inhabitants 
on  the  threshold  discoursing  of  the  news ;  there  was  no  doubt  as  to 
its  truth.  And  he  went  up  to  communicate  it  to  the  ladies  under 
his  charge.  He  did  not  think  it  was  necessary  to  tell  them  how  he 
had  intended  to  take  leave  of  them,  how  he  had  bought  horses,  and 
what  a  price  he  had  paid  for  them. 

But  success  or  defeat  was  a  minor  matter  to  them,  who  had 
only  thought  for  the  safety  of  those  they  loved.  Amelia,  at  the 
news  of  the  victory,  became  still  more  agitated  even  than  before. 
She  was  for  going  that  moment  to  the  army.  She  besought  her 
brother  with  tears  to  conduct  her  thither.  Her  doubts  and  terrors 
reached  their  paroxysm ;  and  the  poor  girl,  who  for  many  hours 
had  been  plunged  into  stupor,  raved  and  ran  hither  and  thither  in 
hysteric  insanity — a  piteous  sight.  No  man  writhing  in  pain  on 
the  hard-fought  field  fifteen  miles  off,  where  lay,  after  their  struggles, 
so  many  of  the  brave — no  man  suftered  more  keenly  than  this  poor 
harmless  victim  of  the  war.  Jos  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  her 
pain.  He  left  his  sister  in  the  charge  of  her  stouter  female  com- 
panion, and  descended  once  more  to  the  threshold  of  the  hotel, 
where  everybody  still  lingered,  and  talked,  and  waited  for  more 
uewB. 


3o6  VANITY    FAIR 

It  grew  to  be  broad  daylight  as  they  stood  here,  and  fresh  news 
began  to  arrive  from  the  war,  brought  by  men  who  had  been  actors 
in  the  scene.  Waggons  and  long  country  carts  laden  with  wounded 
came  rolling  into  the  town  ;  ghastly  groans  came  from  within  them, 
and  haggard  faces  looked  up  sadly  from  out  of  the  straw.  Jos 
Sedley  was  looking  at  one  of  these  carriages  with  a  painful  curiosity 
— the  moans  of  the  people  within  were  frightful — the  wearied  horses 
could  hardly  pull  the  cart.  "  Stop  !  Stop  ! "  a  feeble  voice  cried 
from  the  straw,  and  the  carriage  stopped  opposite  Mr.  Sedley's 
hotel. 

"  It  is  George,  I  know  it  is ! "  cried  Amelia,  rushing  in  a 
moment  to  the  balcony,  with  a  pallid  face  and  loose  flowing  hair. 
It  was  not  George,  however,  but  it  was  the  next  best  thing :  it  was 
news  of  him. 

It  was  poor  Tom  Stubble,  who  had  marched  out  of  Brussels  so 
gallantly  twenty-four  hours  before,  bearing  the  colours  of  the  regi- 
ment, which  he  had  defended  very  gallantly  upon  the  field.  A 
French  lancer  had  speared  the  young  ensign  in  the  leg,  who  fell, 
still  bravely  holding  to  his  flag.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  engage- 
ment, a  place  had  been  found  for  the  poor  boy  in  a  cart,  and  he  had 
been  brought  back  to  Brussels. 

"Mr.  Sedley,  Mr.  Sedley !"  cried  the  boy  faintly,  and  Jos  came 
up  almost  frightened  at  the  appeal.  He  had  not  at  first  distinguished 
who  it  was  that  called  him. 

Little  Tom  Stubble  held  out  his  hot  and  feeble  hand.  "  I'm 
to  be  taken  in  here,"  he  said.  "  Osborne — and — and  Dobbin  said 
I  was ;  and  you  are  to  give  the  man  two  napoleons :  my  mother 
will  pay  you."  This  young  fellow's  thoughts,  during  the  long 
feverish  hours  passed  in  the  cart,  had  been  wandering  to  his  father's 
parsonage  which  he  had  quitted  only  a  few  months  before,  and  he 
had  sometimes  forgotten  his  pain  in  that  delirium. 

The  hotel  was  large,  and  the  people  kind,  and  all  the  inmates 
of  the  cart  were  taken  in  and  placed  on  various  couches.  The  young 
ensign  was  conveyed  upstairs  to  Osborne's  quarters.  Amelia  and 
the  Major's  wife  had  rushed  down  to  him,  when  the  latter  had 
recognised  him  from  the  balcony.  You  may  fancy  the  feelings  of 
these  women  when  they  were  told  that  the  day  was  over,  and  both 
their  husbands  were  safe ;  in  what  mute  rapture  Amelia  fell  on  her 
good  friend's  neck,  and  embraced  her ;  in  what  a  grateful  passion  of 
prayer  she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  thanked  the  Power  which  had 
saved  her  husband. 

Our  young  lady,  in  her  fevered  and  nervous  condition,  could 
have  had  no  more  salutary  medicine  prescribed  for  her  by  any 
physician  than  that  which  chance  put  in  her  way.     She  ajid  Mrs. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  307 

O'Dowd  watched  incessantly  by  the  wounded  lad,  whose  pains  were 
very  severe,  and  in  the  duty  thus  forced  upon  her,  Amelia  had  not 
time  to  brood  over  her  personal  anxieties,  or  to  give  herself  up  to 
her  own  fears  and  forebodings  after  her  wont.  The  young  patient 
told  in  his  simple  fashion  the  events  of  the  day,  and  the  actions  of 
our  friends  of  the  gallant  — th.  They  had  suflfered  severely.  They 
had  lost  very  many  officers  and  men.  The  Major's  horse  had  been 
shot  under  him  as  the  regiment  charged,  and  they  all  thought  that 
O'Dowd  was  gone,  and  that  Dobbin  had  got  his  majority,  until  on 
their  return  from  the  charge  to  their  old  ground,  the  Major  was 
discovered  seated  on  Pyramus's  carcase,  refreshing  himself  from  a 
case-bottle.  It  was  Captain  Osborne  that  cut  down  the  French 
lancer  who  had  speared  the  ensign.  Amelia  turned  so  pale  at  the 
notion,  that  Mrs.  O'Dowd  stopped  the  young  ensign  in  his  story. 
And  it  was  Captain  Dobbin  who  at  the  end  of  the  day,  though 
wounded  himself,  took  up  the  lad  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  to 
the  surgeon,  and  thence  to  the  cart  which  was  to  bring  him  back 
to  Brussels.  And  it  was  he  who  promised  the  driver  two  louis  if 
he  would  make  his  way  to  Mr.  Sedley's  hotel  in  the  city ;  and  tell 
Mrs.  Captain  Osborne  that  the  action  was  over,  and  that  her 
husband  was  unhurt  and  well. 

"  Indeed,  but  he  has  a  good  heart  that  William  Dobbin,"  Mrs. 
0  Dowd  said,  "  though  he  is  always  laughing  at  me." 

Young  Stubble  vowed  there  was  not  such  another  officer  in  the 
army,  and  never  ceased  his  praises  of  the  senior  captain,  his  modesty, 
his  kindness,  and  his  admirable  coolness  in  the  field.  To  these  parts 
of  the  conversation,  Amelia  lent  a  very  distracted  attention  :  it  was 
only  when  George  was  spoken  of  that  she  listened,  and  when  he  was 
not  mentioned,  she  thought  about  him. 

In  tending  her  patient,  and  in  thinking  of  the  wonderful  escapes 
of  the  day  before,  her  second  day  passed  away  not  too  slowly  with 
Amelia.  There  was  only  one  man  in  the  army  for  her  :  and  as  long 
as  he  was  well,  it  must  be  owned  that  its  movements  interested  her 
little.  All  the  reports  which  Jos  brought  from  the  streets  fell  very 
vaguely  on  her  ears ;  though  they  were  sufficient  to  give  that 
timorous  gentleman,  and  many  other  people  then  in  Brussels,  every 
disquiet.  The  French  had  been  repulsed  certainly,  but  it  was  after 
a  severe  and  doubtful  struggle,  and  with  only  a  division  of  the 
French  army.  The  Emperor,  with  the  main  body,  was  away  at 
Ligny,  where  he  had  utterly  annihilated  the  Prussians,  and  was  now 
free  to  bring  his  whole  force  to  bear  upon  the  allies.  The  Duke  of 
Wellington  was  retreating  upon  the  capital,  and  a  great  battle  must 
be  fought  under  its  walls  probably,  of  which  the  chances  were  more 
than  doubtful.     The  Duke  of  Wellington  had  but  twenty  thousand 


3o8  VANITY    FAIR 

British  troops  on  whom  he  could  rely,  for  the  Germans  were  raw 
militia,  the  Belgians  disaffected ;  and  with  this  handful  his  Grace 
had  to  resist  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  that  had  broken 
into  Belgium  under  Napoleon.  Under  Napoleon !  What  warrior 
was  there,  however  famous  and  skilful,  that  could  fight  at  odds 
with  him  1 

Jos  thought  of  all  these  things,  and  trembled.  So  did  all  the 
rest  of  Brussels — where  people  felt  that  the  fight  of  the  day  before 
was  but  the  prelude  to  the  greater  combat  which  was  imminent. 
One  of  the  armies  opposed  to  the  Emperor  was  scattered  to  the 
winds  already.  The  few  English  that  could  be  brought  to  resist 
him  would  perish  at  their  posts,  and  the  conqueror  would  pass  over 
their  bodies  into  the  city.  Woe  be  to  those  whom  he  found  there  ! 
Addresses  were  prepared,  public  functionaries  assembled  and  debated 
secretly,  apartments  were  got  ready,  and  tricoloured  banners  and 
triumphal  emblems  manufactured,  to  welcome  the  arrival  of  His 
Majesty  the  Emperor  and  King. 

The  emigration  still  continued,  and  wherever  families  could  find 
means  of  departure,  they  fled.  When  Jos,  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
17th  of  June,  went  to  Rebecca's  hotel,  he  found  that  the  great 
Bareacres'  carriage  had  at  length  rolled  away  from  the  porte-cochere. 
The  Earl  had  procured  a  pair  of  horses  somehow,  in  spite  of  Mrs. 
Crawley,  and  was  rolling  on  the  road  to  Ghent.  Louis  the  Desired 
was  getting  ready  his  portmanteau  in  that  city,  too.  It  seemed 
as  if  Misfortune  was  never  tired  of  worrying  into  motion  that  un- 
wieldy exile. 

Jos  felt  that  the  delay  of  yesterday  had  been  only  a  respite,  and 
that  his  dearly  bought  horses  must  of  a  siu"ety  be  put  into  requisition. 
His  agonies  were  very  severe  all  this  day.  As  long  as  there  was  an 
English  army  between  Brussels  and  Napoleon,  there  was  no  need  of 
immediate  flight ;  but  he  had  his  horses  brought  from  their  distant 
stables,  to  the  stables  in  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel  where  he  lived ; 
so  that  they  might  be  under  his  own  eyes,  and  beyond  the  risk  of 
violent  abduction.  Isidor  watched  the  stable-door  constantly,  and 
had  the  horses  saddled,  to  be  ready  for  the  start.  He  longed 
intensely  for  that  event. 

After  the  reception  of  the  previous  day,  Rebecca  did  not  care  to 
come  near  her  dear  Amelia.  She  clipped  the  bouquet  which  George 
had  brought  her,  and  gave  fresh  water  to  the  flowers,  and  read  over 
the  letter  which  he  had  sent  her.  "  Poor  wretch,"  she  said,  twirling 
round  the  little  bit  of  paper  in  her  fingers,  "  how  I  could  crush  her 
with  this  ! — and  it  is  for  a  thing  like  this  that  she  must  break  her 
heart,  forsooth — for  a  man  who  is  stupid — a  coxcomb — and  who 
does  not  care  for  her.     My  poor  good  Rawdon  is  worth  ten  of  this 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  309 

creature."  And  then  she  fell  to  thinking  what  she  should  do  if — if 
anything  happened  to  poor  good  Rawdon,  and  what  a  great  piece  of 
luck  it  was  that  he  had  left  his  horses  behind. 

In  the  course  of  this  day  too,  IVfrs.  Crawley,  who  saw  not  with- 
out anger  the  Bareacres  party  drive  off,  bethought  her  of  the  pre- 
caution which  the  Countess  had  taken,  and  did  a  little  needlework 
for  her  own  advantage;  she  stitched  away  the  major  part  of  her 
trinkets,  bills,  and  bank-notes  about  her  person,  and  so  prepared, 
was  ready  for  any  event — to  fly  if  she  thought  fit,  or  to  stay  and 
welcome  the  conqueror,  were  he  Englishman  or  Frenchman.  And  I 
am  not  sure  that  she  did  not  dream  that  night  of  becoming  a  duchess 
and  Madame  la  Mardchale,  while  Rawdon  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  and 
making  his  bivouac  under  the  rain  at  Mount  Saint  John,  was  think- 
ing, with  all  the  force  of  his  heart,  about  the  little  wife  whom  he 
had  left  behind  him. 

The  next  day  was  a  Sunday.  And  Mrs.  Major  O'Dowd  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  both  her  patients  refreshed  in  health  and 
spirits  by  some  rest  which  they  had  taken  during  the  night.  She 
herself  had  slept  on  a  great  chair  in  Amelia's  room,  ready  to  wait 
upon  her  poor  friend  or  the  ensign,  should  either  need  her  nursing. 
When  morning  came,  this  robust  woman  went  back  to  the  house 
where  she  and  her  Major  had  their  billet ;  and  here  performed  an 
elaborate  and  splendid  toilette,  befitting  the  day.  And  it  is  very 
possible  that  whilst  alone  in  that  chamber,  which  her  husband  had 
inhabited,  and  where  his  cap  still  lay  on  the  pillow,  and  his  cane 
stood  in  the  comer,  one  prayer  at  least  was  sent  up  to  Heaven  for 
the  welfare  of  the  brave  soldier,  Michael  O'Dowd. 

When  she  returned  she  brought  her  prayer-book  with  her,  and 
her  uncle  the  Dean's  famous  book  of  sermons,  out  of  which  she 
never  failed  to  read  every  Sabbath ;  not  understanding  all,  haply, 
not  pronouncing  many  of  the  words  aright,  which  were  long  and 
abstruse — for  the  Dean  was  a  learned  man,  and  loved  long  Latin 
words — but  with  great  gravity,  vast  emphasis,  and  with  tolerable 
correctness  in  the  main.  How  often  has  my  Mick  listened  to  these 
sermons,  she  thought,  and  me  reading  in  the  cabin  of  a  calm  !  She 
proposed  to  resume  this  exercise  on  the  present  day,  with  Amelia 
and  the  wounded  ensign  for  a  congregation.  The  same  service  was 
read  on  that  day  in  twenty  thousand  churches  at  the  same  hour; 
and  millions  of  British  men  and  women,  on  their  knees,  implored 
protection  of  the  Father  of  all. 

They  did  not  hear  the  noise  which  disturbed  our  little  congrega- 
tion at  Brussels.     Much  louder  than  that  which  had  interrupted 
them  two  days  previously,  as  Mrs.  O'Dowd  was  reading  the  service 
in  her  best  voice,  the  cannon  of  Waterloo  began  to  roar. 
2 


310  VANITY    FAIR 

When  Jos  heard  that  dreadful  sound,  he  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  bear  this  perpetual  recurrence  of  terrors  no  longer,  and 
would  fly  at  once.  He  rushed  into  the  sick  man's  room,  where  our 
three  friends  had  paused  in  their  prayers,  and  ftu-ther  interrupted 
them  by  a  passionate  appeal  to  Amelia. 

"  I  can't  stand  it  any  more,  Emmy,"  he  said ;  "  I  won't  stand 
it ;  and  you  must  come  with  me.  I  have  bought  a  horse  for  you — 
never  mind  at  what  price— and  you  must  dress  and  come  with  me, 
and  ride  behind  Isidor." 

"God  forgive  me,  Mr.  Sedley,  but  you  are  no  better  than  a 
coward,"  Mrs.  O'Dowd  said,  laying  down  the  book. 

"I  say  come,  Amelia,"  the  civilian  went  on;  "never  mind 
what  she  says ;  why  are  we  to  stop  here  and  be  butchered  by  the 
Frenchmen  1 " 

"You  forget  the  — th,  my  boy,"  said  the  little  Stubble,  the 
wounded  hero,  from  his  bed — "  and — and  you  won't  leave  me,  will 
you,  Mrs.  O'Dowd?" 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  she,  going  up  and  kissing  the  boy. 
"  No  harm  shall  come  to  you  while  /  stand  by.  I  don't  budge  till 
I  get  the  word  from  Mick.  A  pretty  figure  I'd  be,  wouldn't  I, 
stuck  behind  that  chap  on  a  pillion  ? " 

This  image  caused  the  young  patient  to  burst  out  laughing  in 
his  bed,  and  even  made  Amelia  smile.  "I  don't  ask  her,"  Jos 
shouted  out  —  "I  don't  ask  that  —  that  Irishwoman,  but  you, 
Amelia ;  once  for  all,  will  you  come  1 " 

"  Without  my  husband,  Joseph  1 "  Amelia  said,  with  a  look  of 
wonder,  and  gave  her  hand  to  the  Major's  wife.  Jos's  patience  was 
exhausted. 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  he  said,  shaking  his  fist  in  a  rage,  and  slam- 
ming the  door  by  which  he  retreated.  And  this  time  he  really  gave 
his  order  for  march  :  and  mounted  in  the  courtyard.  Mrs.  O'Dowd 
heard  the  clattering  hoofs  of  the  horses  as  they  issued  from  the  gate  ; 
and  looking  on,  made  many  scornful  remarks  on  poor  Joseph  as  he 
rode  down  the  street  with  Isidor  after  him  in  the  laced  cap.  The 
horses,  which  had  not  been  exercised  for  some  days,  were  lively,  and 
sprang  about  the  street.  Jos,  a  clumsy  and  timid  horseman,  did 
not  look  to  advantage  in  the  saddle.  "  Look  at  him,  Amelia  dear, 
driving  into  the  parlour  window.  Such  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  /  never 
saw."  And  presently  the  pair  of  riders  disappeared  at  a  canter  down 
the  street  leading  in  the  direction  of  the  Ghent  road,  Mrs.  O'Dowd 
pursuing  them  with  a  fire  of  sarcasm  so  long  as  they  were  in  sight. 

All  that  day  from  morning  until  past  sunset,  the  cannon  never 
ceased  to  roar.  It  was  dark  when  the  cannonading  stopped  all  of 
a  sudden. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  311 

All  of  us  have  read  of  what  occurred  during  that  interval.     The 
tale  is  in  every  Englishman's  mouth ;  and  you  and  I,  who  were 
children  when  the  great  battle  was  won  and  lost,  are  never  tired  of 
hearing  and  recounting  the  histcrt"y  of  that  famous  action.      Its 
remembrance  rankles  still  in  the  bosoms  of  millions  of  the  country-     , 
men  of  those  brave  men  who  lost  the  day.     They  pant   for  an 
^opportunity  of  revenging  that  humiliation  ;  and  if  a  contest,  ending      Z\,JlX 
in  a  victory  on  their  part,  should  ensue,  elating  them  in  their  turn,       ■     »^ 
and  leaving  its  cursed  legacy  of  hatred  and  rage  behind  to  us,  there 
is  no  end  to  the  so-called  glory  and  shame,  and  to  the  alternations 
of  successful  and  unsuccessftil  murder,  in  which  two  high-spirited 
nations  might  engage.     Centuries  hence,  we  Frenchmen  and  English- 
men might  be  boasting  and  killing  each  other  still,  carrying  out 
bravely  the  Devil's  code  of  honour. 

All  our  friends  took  their  share  and  fought  like  men  in  the  great 
field.      All  day  long,  whilst  the  women  were  praying  ten  miles 
away,  the  lines  of  the  dauntless  English  infantry  were  receiving  and 
repelling  the  furious  charges  of  the  French  horsemen.     Guns  which    .  ^ 
were  heard  at  Brussels  were  ploughing  up  their  ranks,  and  comrades  .  U 
falling,  and  the  resolute  survivors  closing  in.      Towards  evening,  A-^  » 

the  attack  of  the  French,  repeated  and  resisted  so  bravely,  slackened  '^ 
in  its  fury.     They  had  other  foes  besides  the  British  to  engage,  or    i, ' 
were  preparing  for  a  final  onset.     It  came  at  last :  the  columns  of  '  i  X 
the  Imperial  Guard  marched  up  the  hill  of  Saint  Jean,  at  length      W* 
and  at  once  to  sweep  the  English  from  the  height  which  they  had       ^^ 
maintained  all  day,  and  spite  of  all :  unscared  by  the  thunder  of  the 
artillery,  which  hurled  death  from  the  English  line — the  dark  rolling 
column  pressed  on  and  up  the  hill.     It  seemed  almost  to  crest  the 
eminence,  when  it  began  to  wave  and  falter.     Then  it  stopped,  still 
facing  the  shot.     Then  at  last  the  English  troops  rushed  from  the 
post  from  which  no  enemy  had  been  able  to  dislodge  them,  and  the 
Guard  turned  and  fled. 

No  more  firing  was  heard  at  Brussels — the  pursuit  rolled  miles 
away.     Darkness  came  down  on  the  field  and  city  :  and  Amelia- 
was  praying  for  George,  who  -  was  lyiDglon  his  face,  dead,  with  a.-.  y/\ 
buTTeT  t!n"ough  his  heart.  / 


f 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IN  WHICH  MISS  CRAfFLEY'S  RELATIONS  ARE  VERY  ANXIOUS 
ABOUT  HER 

THE  kind  reader  must  please  to  remember — while  the  army  is 
marching  from  Flanders,  and,  after  its  heroic  actions  there,  is 
advancing  to  take  the  fortifications  on  the  frontiers  of  France, 
previous  to  an  occupation  of  that  country, — that  there  are  a  number 
of  persons  living  peaceably  in  England  who  have  to  doVith  the  history 
at  present  in  hand,  and  must  come  in  for  their  share  of  the  chronicle. 
During  the  time  of  these  battles  and  dangers,  old  Miss  Crawley  was 
living  at  Brighton,  very  moderately  moved  by  the  great  events  that 
were  going  on.  The  great  events  rendered  the  newspapers  rather 
interesting,  to  be  sure,  and  Briggs  read  out  the  Gazette,  in  which 
Rawdon  Crawley's  gallantry  was  mentioned  with  honour,  and  his  pro- 
motion was  presently  recorded. 

"  What  a  pity  that  young  man  has  taken  such  an  irretrievable 
step  in  the  world  !  "  his  aunt  said ;  "  with  his  rank  and  distinction  he 
might  have  married  a  brewer's  daughter  with  a  quarter  of  a  million 
— like  Miss  Grains ;  or  have  looked  to  ally  himself  with  the  best 
families  in  England.  He  would  have  had  my  money  some  day  or 
other ;  or  his  children  would — for  I'm  not  in  a  hurry  to  go.  Miss 
Briggs,  although  you  may  be  in  a  hurry  to  be  rid  of  me ;  and  instead 
of  that,  he  is  a  doomed  pauper,  with  a  dancing-girl  for  a  wife." 

"  Will  my  dear  Miss  Crawley  not  cast  an  eye  of  compassion  upon 
the  heroic  soldier,  whose  name  is  inscribed  in  the  annals  of  his  country's 
glory  1 "  said  Miss  Briggs,  who  was  greatly  excited  by  the  Waterloo 
proceedings,  and  loved  speaking  romantically  when  there  was  an 
occasion.  '*  Has  not  the  Captain — or  the  Colonel  as  I  may  now 
style  him — done  deeds  which  make  the  name  of  Crawley  illustrious  1 " 

"  Briggs,  you  are  a  fool,"  said  Miss  Crawley  :  "  Colonel  Crawley 
has  dragged  the  name  of  Crawley  through  the  mud.  Miss  Briggs. 
Marry  a  drawing-master's  daughter,  indeed  ! — marry  a  dame  de  com- 
pagnie — for  she  was  no  better,  Briggs ;  no,  she  was  just  what  you 
are — only  younger,  and  a  great  deal  prettier  and  cleverer.  Were  you 
an  accomplice  of  that  abandoned  wretch,  I  wonder,  of  whose  vile  arts 
he  became  a  victim,  and  of  whom  you  used  to  be  such  an  admirer  1 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  313 

Yes,  I  dare  say  you  were  an  accomplice.  But  you  will  find  yourself 
disappointed  in  my  will,  I  can  tell  you  :  and  you  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  write  to  Mr.  Waxy,  and  say  that  I  desire  to  see  him  imme- 
diately." Miss  Crawley  was  now/^in  the  habit  of  writing  to  Mr. 
Waxy  her  solicitor  almost  every  day  in  the  week,  for  her  arrange- 
ments respecting  her  property  were  all  revoked,  and  her  perplexity 
was  great  as  to  the  future  disposition  of  her  money. 

The  spinster  had,  however,  rallied  considerably ;  as  was  proved 
by  the  increased  vigour  and  frequency  of  her  sarcasms  upon  Miss 
Briggs,  all  which  attacks  the  poor  companion  bore  with  meekness,  with 
cowardice,  with  a  resignation  that  was  half  generous  and  half  hypo- 
critical— with  the  slavish  submission,  in  a  word,  that  women  of  her 
disposition  and  station  are  compelled  to  show.  Who  has  not  seen 
how  women  bully  women  1  What  tortures  have  men  to  endure,  com- 
parable to  those  daily  repeated  shafts  of  scorn  and  cruelty  with  which 
poor  women  are  riddled  by  the  tyrants  of  their  sex  ?  Poor  victims  ! 
But  we  are  starting  from  our  proposition,  which  is,  that  Miss  Crawley 
was  always  particularly  annoying  and  savage  when  she  was  rallying 
from  illness — as  they  say  wounds  tingle  most  when  they  are  about 
to  heal. 

While  thus  approaching,  as  all  hoped,  to  convalescence.  Miss 
Briggs  was  the  only  victim  admitted  into  the  presence  of  the  invalid; 
yet  Miss  Crawley's  relatives  afar  off"  did  not  forget  their  beloved  kins- 
woman, and  by  a  number  of  tokens,  presents,  and  kind  affectionate 
messages,  strove  to  keep  themselves  alive  in  her  recollection. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  mention  her  nephew,  Rawdon  Crawley. 
A  few  weeks  after  the  famous  fight  of  Waterloo,  and  after  the 
Gazette  had  made  known  to  her  the  promotion  and  gallantry  of  that 
distinguished  ofiicer,  the  Dieppe  packet  brought  over  to  Miss  Crawley 
at  Brighton,  a  box  containing  presents,  and  a  dutiful  letter,  from  the 
Colonel  her  nephew.  In  the  box  were  a  pair  of  French  epaulets,  a 
Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  and  the  hilt  of  a  sword — relics  from 
the  field  of  battle :  and  the  letter  described  with  a  good  deal  of 
humour  how  the  latter  belonged  to  a  commanding-officer  of  the 
Guard,  who  having  sworn  that  "the  Guard  died,  but  never  sur- 
rendered," was  taken  prisoner  the  next  minute  by  a  private  soldier, 
who  broke  the  Frenchman's  sword  with  the  butt  of  his  musket, 
when  Rawdon  made  himself  master  of  the  shattered  weapon.  As  for 
the  cross  and  epaulets,  they  came  from  a  Colonel  of  French  cavalry, 
who  had  fallen  under  the  aide-de-camp's  arm  in  the  battle :  and 
Rawdon  Crawley  did  not  know  what  better  to  do  with  the  spoils 
than  to  send  them  to  his  kindest  and  most  affectionate  old  friend. 
Should  he  continue  to  write  to  her  from  Paris,  whither  the  army 
was  marching?     He  might  be  able  to  give  her  interesting  news 


V 


314  VANITY    FAIR 

from  that  capital,  and  of  some  of  Miss  Crawley's  old  friends  of  the 
emigration,  to  whom  she  had  shown  so  much  kindness  during  their 
distress. 

The  spinster  caused  Briggs  to  write  back  to  the  Colonel  a  gracious 
and  complimentary  letter,  encouraging  him  to  continue  his  correspond- 
ence. His  first  letter  was  so  excessively  lively  and  amusing  that 
she  should  look  with  pleasure  for  its  successors. — "  Of  course,  I 
know,"  she  explained  to  Miss  Briggs,  "  that  Rawdon  could  not  write 
such  a  good  letter  any  more  than  you  could,  my  poor  Briggs,  and 
that  it  is  that  clever  little  wretch  of  a  Rebecca,  who  dictates  every 
word  to  him ;  but  that  is  no  reason  why  my  nephew  should  not 
amuse  me ;  and  so  I  wish  to  let  him  understand  that  I  am  in  high 
good-humour." 

I  wonder  whether  she  knew  that  it  was  not  only  Becky  who 
wrote  the  letters,  but  that  Mrs.  Rawdon  actually  took  and  sent 
home  the  trophies — which  she  bought  for  a  few  francs,  from  one  of 
the  innumerable  pedlars  who  immediately  began  to  deal  in  relics  of 
the  war.  The  novelist,  who  knows  everything,  knows  this  also. 
Be  this,  however,  as  it  may.  Miss  Crawley's  gracious  reply  greatly 
encouraged  our  young  friends,  Rawdon  and  his  lady,  who  hoped  for 
the  best  from  their  aunt's  evidently  pacified  humour :  and  they  took 
care  to  entertain  her  with  many  delightful  letters  from  Paris,  whither, 
as  Rawdon  said,  they  had  the  good  luck  to  go  in  the  track  of  the 
conquering  army. 

To  the  Rector's  lady,  who  went  off  to  tend  her  husband's  broken 
collar-bone  at  the  Rectory  at  Queen's  Crawley,  the  spinster's  com- 
munications were  by  no  means  so  gracious.  Mrs.  Bute,  that  brisk, 
managing,  lively,  imperious  woman,  had  committed  the  most  fatal 
of  all  errors  with  regard  to  her  sister-in-law.  She  had  not  merely 
oppressed  her  and  her  household — she  had  bored  Miss  Crawley;  and 
if  poor  Miss  Briggs  had  been  a  woman  of  any  spirit,  she  might  have 
been  made  happy  by  the  commission  which  her  principal  gave  her  to 
write  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley,  saying  that  Miss  Crawley's 
health  was  greatly  improved  since  Mrs.  Bute  had  left  her,  and 
begging  the  latter  on  no  account  to  put  herself  to  trouble,  or  quit 
her  family  for  Miss  Crawley's  sake.  This  triumph  over  a  lady  who 
had  been  very  haughty  and  cruel  in  her  behaviour  to  Miss  Briggs, 
would  have  rejoiced  most  women ;  but  the  truth  is,  Briggs  was  a 
woman  of  no  spirit  at  all,  and  the  moment  her  enemy  was  discom- 
fited, she  began  to  feel  compassion  in  her  favour. 

"  How  silly  I  was,"  Mrs. .  Bute  thought,  and  with  reason,  "  ever 
to  hint  that  I  was  coming,  as  I  did,  in  that  foolish  letter  when  we 
sent  Miss  Crawley  the  guinea-fowls.  I  ought  to  have  gone  without 
a  word  to  the  poor  dear  doting  old  creature,  and  taken  her  out  of  the 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  315 

hands  of  that  ninny  Briggs,  and  that  harpy  of  a  femme  de  chambre. 
Oh  !  Bute,  Bute,  why  did  you  break  your  collar-bone  1 " 

Why,  indeed  1  We  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Bute,  having  the  game 
in  her  hands,  had  really  played  h^r  cards  too  well.  She  had  ruled 
over  Miss  Crawley's  household  utterly  and  completely,  to  be  utterly 
and  completely  routed  when  a  favourable  opportunity  for  rebellion 
came.  She  and  her  household,  however,  considered  that  she  had 
been  the  victim  of  horrible  selfishness  and  treason,  and  that  her 
sacrifices  in  Miss  Crawley's  behalf  had  met  with  the  most  savage 
ingratitude.  Rawdon's  promotion,  and  the  honourable  mention 
made  of  his  name  in  the  Gazette,  filled  this  good  Christian  lady  also 
with  alarm.  Would  his  aunt  relent  towards  him  now  that  he  was 
a  Lieutenant-Colonel  and  a  C.B.  1  and  would  that  odious  Rebecca 
once  more  get  into  favour  ?  The  Rector's  wife  wrote  a  sermon  for 
her  husband  about  the  vanity  of  military  glory  and  the  prosperity 
of  the  wicked,  which  the  worthy  parson  read  in  his  best  voice  and 
without  understanding  one  syllable  of  it.  He  had  Pitt  Crawley  for 
one  of  his  auditors — Pitt,  who  had  come  with  his  two  half-sisters 
to  church,  which  the  old  Baronet  could  now  by  no  means  be  brought 
to  frequent. 

Since  the  departure  of  Becky  Sharp,  that  old  wretch  had  given 
himself  up  entirely  to  his  bad  courses,  to  the  great  scandal  of  the 
county  and  the  mute  horror  of  his  son.  The  ribbons  in  Miss 
Horrocks's  cap  became  more  splendid  than  ever.  The  polite 
families  fled  the  hall  and  its  owner  in  terror.  Sir  Pitt  went  about 
tippling  at  his  tenants'  houses ;  and  drank  rum-and-water  with  the 
farmers  at  Mudbury  and  the  neighbouring  places  on  market-days. 
He  drove  the  family  coach-and-four  to  Southampton  with  Miss 
Horrocks  inside :  and  the  county  people  expected,  every  week,  as 
his  son  did  in  speechless  agony,  that  his  marriage  with  her  would 
be  announced  in  the  provincial  paper.  It  was  indeed  a  rude 
burthen  for  Mr.  Crawley  to  bear.  His  eloquence  was  palsied  at 
the  missionary  meetings,  and  other  religious  assemblies  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, where  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  presiding,  and  of 
speaking  for  hours;  for  he  felt,  when  he  rose,  that  the  audience 
said,  "  That  is  the  son  of  the  old  reprobate  Sir  Pitt,  who  is  very 
likely  drinking  at  the  public-house  at  this  very  moment."  And 
once  when  he  was  speaking  of  the  benighted  condition  of  the  king 
of  Timbuctoo,  and  the  number  of  his  wives  who  were  likewise  in 
darkness,  some  gipsy  miscreant  from  the  crowd  asked,  "  How  many 
is  there  at  Queen's  Crawley,  Young  Squaretoes  ? "  to  the  surprise  of 
the  platform,  and  the  ruin  of  Mr.  Pitt's  speech.  And  the  two 
daughters  of  the  house  of  Queen's  Crawley  would  have  been  allowed 
to  run  utterly  wild  (for  Sir  Pitt  swore  that  no  governess  should 


3i6  VANITY    FAIR 

ever  enter  into  his  doors  again),  had  not  Mr.  Crawley,  by  threaten- 
ing the  old  gentleman,  forced  the  latter  to  send  them  to  school. 

Meanwhile,  as  we  have  said,  whatever  individual  differences 
there  might  be  between  them  all,  Miss  Crawley's  dear  nephews  and 
nieces  were  unanimous  in  loving  her  and  sending  her  tokens  of 
affection.  Thus  Mrs.  Bute  sent  guinea-fowls,  and  some  remarkably 
fine .  cauliflowers,  and  a  pretty  purse  or  pin-cushion  worked  by  her 
darling  girls,  who  begged  to  keep  a  little  place  in  the  recollection  of 
their  dear  aunt,  while  Mr.  Pitt  sent  peaches  and  grapes  and  venison 
from  the  Hall.  The  Southampton  coach  used  to  carry  these  tokens 
of  affection  to  Miss  Crawley  at  Brighton :  it  used  sometimes  to 
convey  Mr.  Pitt  thither  too  :  for  his  differences  with  Sir  Pitt  caused 
Mr.  Crawley  to  absent  himself  a  good  deal  fi'om  home  now :  and 
besides,  he  had  an  attraction  at  Brighton  in  the  person  of  Lady 
Jane  Sheepshanks,  whose  engagement  to  Mr.  Crawley  has  been 
formerly  mentioned  in  this  history.  Her  Ladyship  and  her  sisters 
lived  at  Brighton  with  their  mamma,  the  Countess  Southdown,  that 
strong-minded  woman  so  favourably  known  in  the  serious  world. 

A  few  words  ought  to  be  said  regarding  her  Ladyship  and  her 
noble  family,  who  are  bound  by  ties  of  present  and  future  relation 
ship  to  the  house  of  Crawley.  Respecting  the  chief  of  the  South 
down  family,  Clement  WilKam,  fourth  Earl  of  Southdown,  little 
need  be  told,  except  that  his  Lordship  came  into  Parliament  (as 
Lord  Wolsey)  under  the  auspices  of  Mr.  Wilberforce,  and  for  a  time 
was  a  credit  to  his  political  sponsor,  and  decidedly  a  serious  young 
man.  But  words  cannot  describe  the  feelings  of  his  admirable 
mother,  when  she  learned,  very  shortly  after  her  noble  husband's 
demise,  that  her  son  was  a  member  of  several  worldly  clubs,  had  lost 
largely  at  play  at  Wattier's  and  the  Cocoa-Tree ;  that  he  had  raised 
money  on  post-obits,  and  encumbered  the  family  estate ;  that  he 
drove  four-in-hand,  and  patronised  the  ring;  and  that  he  actually 
had  an  opera-box,  where  he  entertained  the  most  dangerous  bachelor 
company.  His  name  was  only  mentioned  with  groans  in  the 
dowager's  circle. 

The  Lady  Emily  was  her  brother's  senior  by  many  years ;  and 
took  considerable  rank  in  the  serious  world  as  author  of  some  of 
the  delightful  tracts  before  mentioned,  and  of  many  hymns  and 
spiritual  pieces.  A  mature  spinster,  and  having  but  faint  ideas  of 
marriage,  her  love  for  the  blacks  occupied  almost  all  her  feelings. 
It  is  to  her,  I  believe,  we  owe  that  beautiful  poem — 

"  Lead  us  to  some  sunny  isle, 
Yonder  in  the  western  deep  ; 
Where  the  skies  for  ever  smile, 
And  the  blacks  for  ever  weep,"  &c. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  517 

She  had  correspondences  with  clerical  gentlemen  in  most  of  our 
East  and  West  India  possessions  ;  and  was  secretly  attached  to  the 
Reverend  Silas  Homblower,  who  was  tattooed  in  the  South  Sea 
Islands.  ^ 

As  for  the  Lady  Jane,  on  whom,  as  it  has  been  said,  Mr.  Pitt 
Crawley's  affection  had  been  placed,  she  was  gentle,  blushing,  silent, 
and  timid.  In  spite  of  his  falling  away,  she  wept  for  her  brother, 
and  was  quite  ashamed  of  loving  him  still.  Even  yet  she  used  to 
send  him  little  hurried  smuggled  notes,  and  pop  them  into  the  post 
in  private.  The  one  dreadful  secret  which  weighed  upon  her  life 
was,  that  she  and  the  old  housekeeper  had  been  to  pay  Southdown 
a  furtive  visit  at  his  chambers  in  the  Albany ;  and  found  him — 0 
the  naughty  dear  abandoned  wretch  ! — smoking  a  cigar  with  a  bottle 
of  cura9oa  before  him.  She  admired  her  sister,  she  adored  her 
mother,  she  thought  Mr.  Crawley  the  most  delightful  and  accom- 
plished of  men,  after  Southdown,  that  fallen  angel :  and  her  mamma 
and  sister,  who  were  ladies  of  the  most  superior  sort,  managed 
everything  for  her,  and  regarded  her  with  that  amiable  pity,  of 
which  your  really  superior  woman  always  has  such  a  share  to  give 
away.  Her  mamma  ordered  her  dresses,  her  books,  her  bonnets, 
and  her  ideas  for  her.  She  was  made  to  take  pony-riding,  or  piano- 
exercise,  or  any  other  sort  of  bodily  medicament,  according  as  my 
Lady  Southdown  saw  meet :  and  her  Ladyship  would  have  kept  her 
daughter  in  pinafores  up  to  her  present  age  of  six-and-twenty,  but 
that  they  were  thrown  off  when  Lady  Jane  was  presented  to  Queen 
Charlotte. 

When  these  ladies  first  came  to  their  house  at  Brighton,  it  was 
to  them  alone  that  Mr.  Crawley  paid  his  personal  visits,  contenting 
himself  by  leaving  a  card  at  his  aunt's  house,  and  making  a  modest 
inquiry  of  Mr.  Bowls  or  his  assistant  footman,  with  respect  to  the 
health  of  the  invalid.  When  he  met  Miss  Briggs  coming  home 
from  the  library  with  a  cargo  of  novels  under  her  arm,  Mr.  Crawley 
blushed  in  a  manner  quite  unusual  to  him,  as  he  stepped  forward 
and  shook  Miss  Crawley's  companion  by  the  hand.  He  introduced 
Miss  Briggs  to  the  lady  with  whom  he  happened  to  be  walking, 
the  Lady  Jane  Sheepshanks,  saying,  "Lady  Jane,  permit  me  to 
introduce  to  you  my  aunt's  kindest  friend  and  most  affectionate 
companion.  Miss  Briggs,  whom  you  know  under  another  title,  as 
authoress  of  the  delightful  'Lyrics  of  the  Heart,'  of  which,  you  are 
so  fond."  Lady  Jane  blushed  too  as  she  held  out  a  kind  little 
hand  to  Miss  Briggs,  and  said  something  very  civil  and  incoherent 
about  mamma,  and  proposing  to  call  on  Miss  Crawley,  and  being 
glad  to  be  made  known  to  the  friends  and  relatives  of  Mr.  Crawley  ; 
and  with  soft  dovelike  eyes  saluted  Miss  Briggs  as  they  separated, 


3i8  VANITY   PAIR 

while  Pitt  Crawley  treated  her  to  a  profound  courtly  bow,  such  as 
he  had  used  to  H.H.  the  Duchess  of  Pumpernickel,  when  he  was 
attach^  at  that  court. 

The  artful  diplomatist  and  disciple  of  the  Machiavellian  Binkie  ! 
It  was  he  who  had  given  Lady  Jane  that  copy  of  poor  Briggs's  early 
poems,  which  he  remembered  to  have  seen  at  Queen's  Crawley,  with 
a  dedication  from  the  poetess  to  his  father's  late  wife ;  and  he  brought 
the  volume  with  him  to  Brighton,  reading  it  in  the  Southampton 
coach,  and  marking  it  with  his  own  pencil,  before  he  presented  it  to 
the  gentle  Lady  Jane. 

i^3^gj;t  was  he,  too,  who  laid  before  Lady  Southdown  the  great  advan 
tages'^hich  might  occur  from  an  intimacy  between  her  family  and 
Miss  Crawley — advantages  both  worldly  and  spiritual,  he  said  :  for 
Miss  Crawley  was  now  quite  alone ;  the  monstrous  dissipation  and 
alliance  of  his  brother  Rawdon  had  estranged  her  affections  from  that 
reprobate  young  man ;  the  greedy  tyranny  and  avarice  of  Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley  had  caused  the  old  lady  to  revolt  against  the  exorbitant  pre- 
tensions of  that  part  of  the  family ;  and  though  he  himself  had  held 
off  all  his  life  from  cultivating  Miss  Crawley's  friendship,  with  per- 
haps an  improper  pride,  he  thought  now  that  every  becoming  means 
should  be  taken,  both  to  save  her  soul  from  perdition,  and  to  secure 
her  fortune  to  himself  as  the  head  of  the  house  of  Crawley. 

The  strong-minded  Lady  Southdown  quite  agreed  in  both  proposals 
of  her  son-in-law,  and  was  for  converting  Miss  Crawley  off-hand.  At 
her  own  home,  both  at  Southdown  and  at  Trottermore  Castle,  this 
tall  and  awful  missionary  of  the  truth  rode  about  the  country  in  her 
barouche  with  outriders,  launched  packets  of  tracts  among  the  cot- 
tagers and  tenants,  and  would  order  Gaffer  Jones  to  be  converted,  as 
she  would  order  Goody  Hicks  to  take  a  James's  powder,  without 
appeal,  resistance,  or  benefit  of  clergy.  My  Lord  Southdown,  her 
late  husband,  an  epileptic  and  simple-minded  nobleman,  was  in  the 
habit  of  approving  of  everything  which  his  Matilda  did  and  thought. 
So  that  whatever  changes  her  own  belief  might  undergo  (and  it 
accommodated  itself  to  a  prodigious  variety  of  opinion,  taken  from  all 
sorts  of  doctors  among  the  Dissenters),  she  had  not  the  least  scruple 
in  ordering  all  her  tenants  and  inferiors  to  follow  and  believe  after 
her.  Thus  whether  she  received  the  Reverend  Savmders  McNitre, 
the  Scotch  divine  ;  or  the  Reverend  Luke  Waters,  the  mild  Wesleyan  ; 
or  the  Reverend  Giles  Jowls,  the  illuminated  Cobbler,  who  dubbed 
himself  Reverend  as  Napoleon  crowned  himself  Emperor — the  house-- 
hold,  children,  tenantry  of  my  Lady  Southdown  were  expected  to  go 
down  on  their  knees  with  her  Ladyship,  and  say  Amen  to  the  prayers 
of  either  Doctor.  During  these  exercises  old  Southdown,  on  account 
of  his  invalid  condition,  was  allowed  to  sit  in  his  own  room,  and  have 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  319 

negus,  and  the  paper  read  to  him.  Lady  Jane  was  the  old  Earl's 
favourite  daughter,  and  tended  him  and  loved  him  sincerely  :  as 
for  Lady  Emily,  the  authoress  of  the  "  Washerwoman  of  Finchley 
Common,"  her  denunciations  of  futjare  punishment  (at  this  period, 
for  her  opinions  modified  afterwards)  were  so  awful  that  they  used 
to  frighten  the  timid  old  gentleman  her  father,  and  the  physicians 
declared  his  fits  always  occurred  after  one  of  her  Ladyship's 
sermons. 

"  I  will  certainly  call,"  said  Lady  Southdown  then,  in  reply  to 
the  exhortation  of  her  dsbughter^s  pr^tendu,  Mr.  Pitt  Crawley — "  Who 
is  Miss  Crawley's  medical  man  ? " 

Mr.  Crawley  mentioned  the  name  of  Mr.  Creamer. 

"  A  most  dangerous  and  ignorant  practitioner,  my  dear  Pitt.  I 
have  providentially  been  the  means  of  removing  him  from  several 
houses  :  though  in  one  or  two  instances  I  did  not  arrive  in  time.  I 
could  not  save  poor  dear  General  Glanders,  who  was  dying  under  the 
hands  of  that  ignorant  man — dying.  He  rallied  a  little  under  the 
Podgers'  pills  which  I  administered  to  him ;  but  alas !  it  was  too 
late.  His  death  was  delightful,  however ;  and  his  change  was  only 
for  the  better;  Creamer,  my  dear  Pitt,  must  leave  your  aunt." 

Pitt  expressed  his   perfect   acquiescence.     He,  too,  had  been 
carried  along  by  the  energy  of  his  noble  kinswoman,  and  future 
mother-in-law.     He  had  been  made  to  accept  Saunders  McNitre, 
Luke  Waters,  Giles  Jowls,  Podgers'  Pills,  Rodgers'  Pills,  Pokey's 
Elixir,  every  one  of  her  Ladyship's  remedies  spiritual  or  temporal. 
He  never  left  her  house  without  caiTying  respectfully  away  with-^ 
him  piles  of  her  quack  theology  and  medicine.    Oh,  my  dear  brethren     j 
and  fellow-sojourners  in  Vanity  Fair,  which  among  you  does  not     / 
know  and  suffer  under  such  benevolent  despots  1     It  is  in  vain  you  / 
say  to  them,  "  Dear  Madam,  I  took  Podgers'  specific  at  your  orders 
last  year,  and  believe  in  it.     Why,  why  am  I  to  recant  and  accept 
the  Rodgers'  articles  now  ? "     There  is  no  help  for  it ;  the  faithful 
proselytiser,  if  she  cannot  convince  by  argument,  bursts  into  tears, 
and  the  recusant  finds  himself,  at  the  end  of  the  contest,  taking 
down  the  bolus,  and  saying,  "  Well,  well,  Rodgers'  be  it." 

"And  as  for  her  spiritual  state,"  continued  the  lady,  "that  of 
course  must  be  looked  to  immediately;  with  Creamer  about  her, 
she  may  go  off  any  day :  and  in  what  a  condition,  my  dear  Pitt,  in 
what  a  dreadful  condition !  I  will  send  the  Reverend  Mr.  Irons  to 
her  instantly.  Jane,  write  a  line  to  the  Reverend  Bartholomew 
Irons,  in  the  third  person,  and  say  that  I  desire  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  this  evening  at  tea  at  half-past  six.  He  is  an  awakening 
man ;  he  ought  to  see  Miss  Crawley  before  she  rests  this  night 
And  Emily,  my  love,  get  ready  a  packet  of  books  for  Miss  Crawley. 


^20  VANITY   FAIR 

Put  up  '  A  Voice  from  the  Flames/  '  A  Trumpet-warning  to  Jericho,' 
and  the  '  Fleshpots  Broken ;  or,  the  Converted  Cannibal.' " 

"  And  the  '  Washerwoman  of  Finchley  Common,'  mamma,"  said 
Lady  Emily.     "  It  is  as  well  to  begin  soothingly  at  first." 

"Stop,  my  dear  ladies,"  said  Pitt,  the  diplomatist.  "With 
every  deference  to  the  opinion  of  my  beloved  and  respected  Lady 
Southdown,  I  think  it  would  be  quite  unadvisable  to  commence  so 
early  upon  serious  topics  with  Miss  Crawley.  Remember  her 
delicate  condition,  and  how  little,  how  very  little  accustomed  she 
has  hitherto  been  to  considerations  connected  with  her  immortal 
welfare." 

"  Can  we  then  begin  too  early,  Pitt  ? "  said  Lady  Emily,  rising 
with  six  little  books  already  in  her  hand. 

"If  you  begin  abruptly,  you  will  frighten  her  altogether.  I 
know  my  aunt's  worldly  nature  so  well  as  to  be  sure  that  any 
abrupt  attempt  at  conversion  will  be  the  very  worst  means  that  can 
be  employed  for  the  welfare  of  that  unfortunate  lady.  You  will 
only  frighten  and  annoy  her.  She  will  very  likely  fling  the  books 
away,  and  refuse  all  acquaintance  with  the  givers." 

"  You  are  as  worldly  as  Miss  Crawley,  Pitt,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
tossing  out  of  the  room,  her  books  in  her  hand. 

"And  I  need  not  tell  you,  my  dear  Lady  Southdown,"  Pitt 

I    continued,  in  a  low  voice,  and  without  heeding  the  interruption, 

j    "  how  fatal  a  little  want  of  gentleness  and  caution  may  be  to  any 

?     hopes  which  we  may  entertain  with  regard  to  the  worldly  posses- 

\  sions  of  my  aunt.     Remember  she  has  seventy  thousand  pounds ; 

J  think  of  her  age,  and  her  highly  nervous  and  delicate  condition ;  I 

/^    know  that   she  has  destroyed  the  will  which  was  made  in  my 

(        brother's  (Colonel  Crawley's)  favour  :  it  is  by  soothing  that  wounded 

>v     spirit  that  we  must  lead  it  into  the  right  path,  and  not  by  frighten- 

^ing  it ;  and  so  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that — that " 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  Lady  Southdown  remarked.  "Jane, 
my  love,  you  need  not  send  that  note  to  Mr.  Irons.  If  her  health 
is  such  that  discussions  fatigue  her,  we  will  wait  her  amendment. 
I  will  call  upon  Miss  Crawley  to-morrow." 

"  And  if  I  might  suggest,  my  sweet  lady,"  Pitt  said  in  a  bland 
tone,  "  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  take  our  precious  Emily,  who  is 
too  enthusiastic ;  but  rather  that  you  should  be  accompanied  by  our 
sweet  and  dear  Lady  Jane." 

"Most  certainly,  Emily  would  ruin  everything,"  Lady  South- 
down said  :  and  this  time  agreed  to  forego  her  usual  practice,  which 
was,  as  we  have  said,  before  she  bore  down  personally  upon  any 
individual  whom  she  proposed  to  subjugate,  to  fire  in  a  quantity  of 
tracts  upon  the  menaced  party  (as  a  charge  of  the  French  was 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  321 

always  preceded  by  a  furious  cannonade).  Lady  Southdown,  we 
say,  for  the  sake  of  the  invalid's  health,  or  for  the  sake  of  her 
soul's  ultimate  welfare,  or  for  the  sake  of  her  money,  agreed  to 
temporise.  /" 

The  next  day,  the  great  Southdown  female  family  carriage,  with 
the  Earl's  coronet  and  the  lozenge  (upon  which  the  three  lambs 
trottant  argent  upon  the  field  vert  of  the  Southdowns,  were  quar- 
tered with  sable  on  a  bend  or,  three  snuff-mulls  gules,  the  cognisance 
of  the  house  of  Binkie),  drove  up  in  state  to  Miss  Crawley's  door, 
and  the  tall  serious  footman  handed  in  to  Mr.  Bowls  her  Ladyship's 
cards  for  Miss  Crawley,  and  one  likewise  for  Miss  Briggs.  By  way 
of  compromise.  Lady  Emily  sent  in  a  packet  in  the  evening  for  the 
latter  lady,  containing  copies  of  the  "Washerwoman,"  and  other 
mild  and  favourite  tracts  for  Miss  B.'s  own  perusal;  and  a  few 
for  the  servants'  hall,  viz.  :  "  Crumbs  from  the  Pantry,"  "  The 
Frying  Pan  and  the  Firej"  and  "The  Livery  of  Sin,"  of  a  much 
Stronger  kind. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

JAMES  CRAWLEY'S  PIPE  IS  PUT  OUT 

THE  amiable  behaviour  of  Mr.  Crawley,  and  Lady  Jane's  kind 
reception  of  her,  highly  fluttered  Miss  Briggs,  who  was 
enabled  to  speak  a  good  word  for  the  latter,  after  the  cards 
of  the  Southdown  family  had  been  presented  to  Miss  Crawley.  A 
Countess's  card  left  personally  too  for  her,  Briggs,  was  not  a  little 
pleasing  to  the  poor  friendless  companion,  "What  could  Lady 
Southdown  mean  by  leaving  a  card  upon  you,  I  wonder.  Miss 
Briggs  ? "  said  the  republican  Miss  Crawley ;  upon  which  the  com- 
panion meekly  said  "  that  she  hoped  there  could  be  no  harm  in  a, 
lady  of  rank  taking  notice  of  a  poor  gentlewoman,"  and  she  put 
away  this  card  in  her  workbox  amongst  her  most  cherished  personal 
treasures.  Furthermore,  Miss  Briggs  explained  how  she  had  met 
Mr.  Crawley  walking  with  his  cousin  and  long-affianced  bride  the 
day  before  :  and  she  told  how  kind  and  gentle-looking  the  lady  was, 
and  what  a  plain,  not  to  say  common,  dress  she  had,  all  the  articles 
of  which,  from  the  bonnet  down  to  the  boots,  she  described  and 
estimated  with  female  accuracy. 

Miss  Crawley  allowed  Briggs  to  prattle  on  without  interrupting 
her  too  much.  As  she  got  well,  she  was  pining  for  society.  Mr. 
Creamer,  her  medical  man,  would  not  hear  of  her  returning  to  her 
old  haunts  and  dissipation  in  London.  The  old  spinster  was  too 
glad  to  find  any  companionship  at  Brighton,  and  not  only  were  the 
cards  acknowledged  the  very  next  day,  but  Pitt  Crawley  was 
graciously  invited  to  come  and  see  his  aunt.  He  came,  bringing 
with  him  Lady  Southdown  and  her  daughter.  The  dowager  did 
not  say  a  word  about  the  state  of  Miss  Crawley's  soul ;  but  talked 
with  much  discretion  about  the  weather :  about  the  war  and  the 
downfall  of  the  monster  Bonaparte :  and  above  all,  about  doctors, 
quacks,  and  the  particular  merits  of  Dr.  Podgers,  whom  she  then 
patronised. 

During  their  interview  Pitt  Crawley  made  a  great  stroke,  and 
one  which  showed  that,  had  his  diplomatic  career  not  been  blighted 
by  early  neglect,  he  might  have  risen  to  a  high  rank  in  his  profes- 
sion..   When  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Southdown  fell  foul  of  the 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  323 

Corsican  upstart,  as  the  fashion  was  in  those  days,  and  showed  that 
he  was  a  monster  stained  with  every  conceivable  crime,  a  coward 
and  a  tyrant  not  fit  to  live,  one  whose  fall  was  predicted,  &c.,  Pitt 
Crawley  suddenly  took  up  the  cudgels  in  favour  of  the  man  of 
Destiny.  He  described  the  First  Consul  as  he  saw  him  at  Paris  at 
the  Peace  of  Amiens ;  when  he,  Pitt  Crawley,  had  the  gratification 
of  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  great  and  good  Mr.  Fox,  a  states- 
man whom,  however  much  he  might  differ  with  him,  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  admire  fervently — a  statesman  who  had  always  had 
the  highest  opinion  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  And  he  spoke  in 
terms  of  the  strongest  indignation  of  the  faithless  conduct  of  the 
allies  towards  this  dethroned  monarch,  who,  after  giving  himself 
generously  up  to  their  mercy,  was  consigned  to  an  ignoble  and  cruel 
banishment,  while  a  bigoted  Popish  rabble  was  tyrannising  over 
France  in  his  stead. 

This  orthodox  horror  of  Romish  superstition  saved  Pitt  Crawley 
in  Lady  Southdown's  opinion,  whilst  his  admiration  for  Fox  and 
Napoleon  raised  him  immeasurably  in  Miss  Crawley's  eyes.  Her 
friendship  with  that  defunct  British  statesman  was  mentioned  when 
we  first  introduced  her  in  this  history.  A  true  Whig,  Miss  Crawley 
had  been  in  opposition  all  through  the  war,  and  though,  to  be  siu-e, 
the  downfall  of  the  Emperor  did  not  very  much  agitate  the  old  lady, 
or  his  ill-treatment  tend  to  shorten  her  life  or  natural  rest,  yet  Pitt 
spoke  to  her  heart  when  he  lauded  both  her  idols;  and  by  that 
single  speech  made  immense  progress  in  her  favour. 

"  And  what  do  you  think,  my  dear  ? "  Miss  Crawley  said  to  the 
young  lady,  for  whom  she  had  taken  a  liking  at  first  sight,  as  she 
always  did  for  pretty  and  modest  young  people ;  though  it  must  be 
owned  her  affections  cooled  as  rapidly  as  they  rose. 

Lady  Jane  blushed  very  much,  and  said  "that  she  did  not 
understand  politics,  which  she  left  to  wiser  heads  than  hers;  but 
though  mamma  was,  no  doubt,  correct,  Mr.  Crawley  had  spoken 
beautifully."  And  when  the  ladies  were  retiring  at  the  conclusion 
of  their  visit,  Miss  Crawley  hoped  "  Lady  Southdown  would  be  so 
kind  as  to  send  her  Lady  Jane  sometimes,  if  she  could  be  spared 
to  come  down  and  console  a  poor  sick  lonely  old  woman."  This 
promise  was  graciously  accorded,  and  they  separated  upon  great 
terms  of  amity. 

"Don't  let  Lady  Southdown  come  again,  Pitt,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "  She  is  stupid  and  pompous,  like  all  your  mother's  family, 
whom  I  never  could  endure.  But  bring  that  nice  good-natured  little 
Jane  as  often  as  ever  you  please."  Pitt  promised  that  he  would  do 
so.  He  did  not  tell  the  Countess  of  Southdown  what  opinion  his 
aunt  had  formed  of  her  Ladyship,  who,  on  the  contrary,  thought 


324  VANITY    FAIR 

that  she  had  made  a  most  delightful  and  majestic  impression  on 
Miss  Crawley. 

And  so,  nothing  loth  to  comfort  a  sick  lady,  and  perhaps  not 
sorry  in  her  heart  to  be  freed  now  and  again  from  the  dreary  spout- 
ing of  the  Reverend  Bartholomew  Irons,  and  the  serious  toadies 
who  gathered  round  the  footstool  of  the  pompous  Countess,  her 
mamma.  Lady  Jane  became  a  pretty  constant  visitor  to  Miss 
Crawley,  accompanied  her  in  her  drives,  and  solaced  many  of  her 
evenings.  She  was  so  naturally  good  and  soft,  that  even  Firkin 
was  not  jealous  of  her;  and  the  gentle  Briggs  thought  her  friend 
was  less  cruel  to  her,  when  kind  Lady  Jane  was  by.  Towards  her 
Ladyship  Miss  Crawley's  manners  were  charming.  The  old  spinster 
told  her  a  thousand  anecdotes  about  her  youth,  talking  to  her  in  a 
very  different  strain  from  that  in  which  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  converse  with  the  godless  little  Rebecca;  for  there  was  that  in 
Lady  Jane's  innocence  which  rendered  light  talking  impertinence 
before  her,  and  Miss  Crawley  was  too  much  of  a  gentlewoman  to 
offend  such  purity.  The  yoimg  lady  herself  had  never  received 
kindness  except  from  this  old  spinster,  and  her  brother  and  father  : 
and  she  repaid  Miss  Crawley's  engoument  by  artless  sweetness  and 
friendship. 

In  the  autumn  evenings  (when  Rebecca  was  flaunting  at  Paris, 
the  gayest  among  the  gay  conquerors  there,  and  our  Amelia,  our  dear 
wounded  Amelia,  ah  !  where  was  she  1)  Lady  Jane  would  be  sitting 
in  Miss  Crawley's  drawing-room  singing  sweetly  to  her,  in  the  twi- 
light, her  little  simple  songs  and  hymns,  while  the  sun  was  setting 
and  the  sea  was  roaring  on  the  beach.  The  old  spinster  used  to 
wake  up  when  these  ditties  ceased,  and  ask  for  more.  As  for  Briggs, 
and  the  quantity  of  tears  of  happiness  which  she  now  shed  as  she 
pretended  to  knit,  and  looked  out  at  the  splendid  ocean  darkling 
before  the  windows,  and  the  lamps  of  heaven  beginning  more  brightly 
to  shine — who,  I  say,  can  measure  the  happiness  and  sensibility 
of  Briggs '? 

Pitt  meanwhile  in  the  dining-room,  with  a  pamphlet  on  the  Corn 
Laws  or  a  Missionary  Register  by  his  side,  took  that  kind  of  recrea- 
tion which  suits  romantic  and  unromantic  men  after  dinner.  He 
sipped  Madeira :  built  castles  in  the  air :  thought  himself  a  fine 
fellow :  felt  himself  much  more  in  love  with  Jane  than  he  had  been 
any  time  these  seven  years,  during  which  their  liaison  had  lasted 
without  the  slightest  impatience  on  Pitt's  part — and  slept  a  good 
deal.  When  the  time  for  coffee  came,  Mr.  Bowls  used  to  enter  in  a 
noisy  manner,  and  summon  Squire  Pitt,  who  would  be  found  in  the 
dark  very  busy  with  his  pamphlet. 

"  I  wish,  my  love,  I  could  get  somebody  to  play  piquet  with  me," 


A   NOVEL   WiTItOUT   A   HERO  ^25 

Miss  Crawley  said  one  night  when  this  functionary  made  his  appear- 
ance with  the  candles  and  the  coffee.  "  Poor  Briggs  can  no  more 
play  than  an  owl,  she  is  so  stupid  "  (the  spinster  always  took  an 
opportunity  of  abusing  Briggs  before^  the  servants) ;  "  and  I  think  I 
should  sleep  better  if  I  had  my  game." 

At  this  Lady  Jane  blushed  to  the  tips  of  her  little  ears,  and 
down  to  the  ends  of  her  pretty  fingers ;  and  when  Mr.  Bowls  had 
quitted  the  room  and  the  door  was  quite  shut,  she  said  : 

"  Miss  Crawley,  I  can  play  a  little.  I  used  to — to  play  a  little 
with  poor  dear  papa." 

"  Come  and  kiss  me.  Come  and  kiss  me  this  instant,  you  dear 
good  little  soul,"  cried  Miss  Crawley  in  an  ecstasy  :  and  in  this 
picturesque  and  friendly  occupation  Mr.  Pitt  found  the  old  lady  and 
the  young  one,  when  he  came  upstairs  with  his  pamphlet  in  his  hand. 
How  she  did  blush  all  the  evening,  that  poor  Lady  Jane  ! 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  Mr.  Pitt  Crawley's  artifices  escaped 
the  attention  of  his  dear  relations  at  the  Rectory  at  Queen's  Crawley. 
Hampshire  and  Sussex  lie  very  close  together,  and  Mrs.  Bute  had 
friends  in  the  latter  county  who  took  care  to  inform  her  of  all,  and 
a  great  deal  more  than  all,  that  passed  at  Miss  Crawley's  house  at 
Brighton.  Pitt  was  there  more  and  more.  He  did  not  come  for 
months  together  to  the  Hall,  where  his  abominable  old  father  aban- 
doned himself  completely  to  rum-and-water,  and  the  odious  society 
of  the  Horrocks  family.  Pitt's  success  rendered  the  Rector's  family 
furious,  and  Mrs.  Bute  regretted  more  (though  she  confessed  less) 
than  ever  her  monstrous  fault  in  so  insulting  Miss  Briggs,  and  in 
being  so  haughty  and  parsimonious  to  Bowls  and  Firkin,  that  she 
had  not  a  single  person  left  in  Miss  Crawley's  household  to  give  her 
information  of  what  took  place  there.  "  It  was  all  Bute's  collar- 
bone," she  persisted  in  saying  ;  "  if  that  had  not  broke,  I  never  would 
have  left  her.  I  am  a  martyr  to  duty  and  to  your  odious  unclerical 
habit  of  hunting,  Bute." 

"  Hunting ;  nonsense  !  It  was  you  that  frightened  her,  Barbara," 
the  divine  interposed.  "  You're  a  clever  woman,  but  you've  got  a 
devil  of  a  temper ;  and  you're  a  screw  with  your  money,  Barbara." 

"  You'd  have  been  screwed  in  gaol,  Bute,  if  I  had  not  kept  your 
money." 

"I  know  I  would,  my  dear,"  said  the  Rector  good-naturedly. 
"  You  are  a  clever  woman,  but  you  manage  too  well,  you  know : " 
and  the  pious  man  consoled  himself  with  a  big  glass  of  port. 

"  What  the  deuce  can  she  find  in  that  spooney  of  a  Pitt  Crawley*?" 
he  continued.     "  The  fellow  has  not  pluck  enough  to  say  Bo  to  a 
goose.     I  remember  when  Rawdon,  who  i&  a  man,  and  be  hanged 
:i5 


L 


3a6  VANITY   FAIR 

to  him,  used  to  flog  him  round  the  stables  as  if  he  was  a 
whipping-top :  and  Pitt  would  go  howling  home  to  his  ma — ha, 
ha !  Why,  either  of  my  boys  would  whop  him  with  one  hand. 
Jim  says  he's  remembered  at  Oxford  as  '  Miss  Crawley '  still — the 
spooney." 

"  I  say,  Barbara,"  his  reverence  continued,  after  a  pause. 

"What?"  said  Barbara,  who  was  biting  her  nails,  and  drum- 
ming the  table. 

"  I  say,  why  not  send  Jim  over  to  Brighton  to  see  if  he  can  do 
anything  with  the  old  lady.  He's  very  near  getting  his  degree,  you 
know.  He's  only  been  plucked  twice — so  was  I — but  he's  had  the 
advantages  of  Oxford  and  a  university  education.  He  knows  some 
of  the  best  chaps  there.     He  pulls  stroke  in  the  Boniface  boat. 

He's  a  handsome  feller.     D it,  ma'am,  let's  put  him  on  the  old 

woman,  hey;  and  tell  him  to  thrash  Pitt  if  he  says  anythink. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

"Jim  might  go  down  and  see  her,  certainly,"  the  housewife 
said;  adding  with  a  sigh,  "If  we  could  but  get  one  of  the  girls 
into  the  house ;  but  she  could  never  endure  them,  because  they  are 
not  pretty ! "  Those  unfortunate  and  well-educated  women  made 
themselves  heard  from  the  neighbouring  drawing-room,  where  they 
were  thrumming  away,  with  hard  fingers,  an  elaborate  music-piece 
on  the  pianoforte,  as  their  mother  spoke ;  and  indeed,  they  were  at 
music,  or  at  backboard,  or  at  geography,  or  at  history,  the  whole 
day  long.  But  what  avail  all  these  accomplishments,  in  Vanity 
Fair,  to  girls  who  are  short,  poor,  plain,  and  have  a  bad  complexion? 
Mrs.  Bute  could  think  of  nobody  but  the  Curate  to  take  one  of 
them  off  her  hands;  and  Jim  coming  in  from  the  stable  at  this 
minute,  through  the  parlour  window,  with  a  short  pipe  stuck  in  his 
oil-skin  cap,  he  and  his  father  fell  to  talking  about  odds  on  the  St. 
Leger,  and  the  colloquy  between  the  Rector  and  his  wife  ended. 

Mrs.  Bute  did  not  augur  much  good  to  the  cause  from  the  send- 
ing of  her  son  James  as  an  ambassador,  and  saw  him  depart  in  rather 
a  despairing  mood.  Nor  did  the  young  fellow  himself,  when  told 
what  his  mission  was  to  be,  expect  much  pleasure  or  benefit  from 
it ;  but  he  was  consoled  by  the  thought  that  possibly  the  old  lady 
would  give  him  some  handsome  remembrance  of  her,  which  would 
pay  a  few  of  his  most  pressing  bills  at  the  commencement  of  the 
ensuing  Oxford  term,  and  so  took  his  place  by  the  coach  from 
Southampton,  and  was  safely  landed  at  Brighton  on  the  same 
evening,  with  his  portmanteau,  his  favourite  bulldog  Towzer,  and 
an  immense  basket  of  farm  and  garden  produce,  from  the  dear 
Rectory  folks  to  the  dear  Miss  Crawley.  Considering  it  was  too 
late  to  disturb  the  invalid  lady  on  the  first  night  of  his  arrival,  he 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  327 

put  up  at  an  inn,  and  did  not  wait  upon  Miss  Crawley  until  a  late 
hour  in  the  noon  of  next  day. 

James  Crawley,  when  his  aunt  had  last  beheld  him,  was  a  gawky 
lad,  at  that  uncomfortable  age  wljen  the  voice  varies  between  an 
unearthly  treble  and  a  preternatural  bass ;  when  the  face  not  un- 
commonly blooms  out  with  appearances  for  which  Rowland's  Kalydor 
is  said  to  act  as  a  cure ;  when  boys  are  seen  to  shave  fiirtively  with 
their  sisters'  scissors,  and  the  sight  of  other  young  women  produces 
intolerable  sensations  of  terror  in  them ;  when  the  great  hands  and 
ankles  protrude  a  long  way  from  garments  which  have  grown  too 
tight  for  them ;  when  their  presence  after  dinner  is  at  once  frightful 
to  the  ladies,  who  are  whispering  in  the  twilight  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  inexpressibly  odious  to  the  gentlemen  over  the  mahogany, 
who  are  restrained  from  freedom  of  intercourse  and  delightful  inter- 
change of  wit  by  the  presence  of  that  gawky  innocence ;  when,  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  second  glass,  papa  says,  "Jack,  my  boy,  go 
out  and  see  if  the  evening  holds  up,"  and  the  youth,  willing  to  be 
free,  yet  hurt  at  not  being  yet  a  man,  quits  the  incomplete  banquet. 
James,  then  a  hobbadehoy,  was  now  become  a  young  man,  having 
had  the  benefits  of  a  university  education,  and  acquired  the  inesti- 
mable polish  which  is  gained  by  living  in  a  fast  set  at  a  small 
college,  and  contracting  debts,  and  being  rusticated,  and  being 
plucked. 

He  was  a  handsome  lad,  however,  when  he  came  to  present 
himself  to  his  aunt  at  Brighton,  and  good  looks  were  always  a  title 
to  the  fickle  old  lady's  favour.  Nor  did  his  blushes  and  awkward- 
ness take  away  from  it :  she  was  pleased  with  these  healthy  tokens 
of  the  young  gentleman's  ingenuousness. 

He  said  "  he  had  come  down  for  a  couple  of  days  to  see  a  man 
of  his  college,  and — and  to  pay  my  respects  to  you.  Ma'am,  and  my 
father's  and  mother's,  who  hope  you  are  well." 

Pitt  was  in  the  room  with  Miss  Crawley  when  the  lad  was 
announced,  and  looked  very  blank  when  his  name  was  mentioned. 
The  old  lady  had  plenty  of  humour,  and  enjoyed  her  correct  nephew's 
pei'plexity.  She  asked  after  all  the  people  at  the  Rectory  with 
great  interest ;  and  said  she  was  thinking  of  paying  them  a  visit. 
She  praised  the  lad  to  his  face,  and  said  he  was  well-grown  and 
very  nuicli  improved,  and  that  it  was  a  pity  his  sisters  had  not 
some  of  his  good  looks ;  and  finding,  on  inquiry,  that  he  had  taken 
up  his  quarters  at  an  hotel,  would  not  hear  of  his  stopping  there, 
but  bade  Mr.  Bowls  send  for  Mr.  James  Crawley's  things  instantly ; 
"and  hark  ye.  Bowls,"  she  added,  with  gi'eat  graciousness,  "you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  pay  Mr.  James's  bill." 

She  flung  Pitt  a  look  of  arch  triumph,  which  caused  that  diplo- 


328  VANITY    FAIR 

matist  almost  to  choke  >vith  envy.  Much  as  he  had  ingratiated 
himself  with  his  aunt,  she  had  never  yet  invited  him  to  stay  under 
her  roof,  and  here  was  a  young  whipper-snapper,  who  at  first  sight 
was  made  welcome  there. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  says  Bowls,  advancing  with  a  pro- 
found bow;  "what  'otel,  sir,  shall  Thomas  fetch  the  luggage 
froml" 

"  Oh,  dam,"  said  young  James,  starting  up,  as  if  in  some  alarm, 
"  I'll  go." 

"  What !  "  said  Miss  Crawley. 

"  The  Tom  Cribb's  Arms,"  said  James,  blushing  deeply. 

Miss  Crawley  burst  out  laughing  at  this  title.  Mr.  Bowls  gave 
one  abrupt  guffaw,  as  a  confidential  servant  of  the  family,  but 
choked  the  rest  of  the  volley ;  the  diplomatist  only  smiled. 

"I — I  didn't  know  any  better,"  said  James,  looking  down. 
"  I've  never  been  here  before ;  it  was  the  coachman  told  me."  The 
young  story-teller !  The  fact  is,  that  on  the  Southampton  coach, 
the  day  previous,  James  Crawley  had  met  the  Tutbury  Pet,  who 
was  coming  to  Brighton  to  make  a  match  with  the  Rottingdean 
Fibber;  and  enchanted  by  the  Pet's  conversation,  had  passed  the 
evening  in  company  with  that  scientific  man  and  his  friends,  at  the 
inn  in  question. 

"I  —  I'd  best  go  and  settle  the  score,"  James  continued. 
"  Couldn't  think  of  asking  you.  Ma'am,"  he  added  generously. 

This  delicacy  made  his  aunt  laugh  the  more. 

"  Co  and  settle  the  bill.  Bowls,"  she  said,  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand,  "  and  bring  it  to  me." 

Poor  lady,  she  did  not  know  what  she  had  done  !  "  There — 
there's  a  little  dawg,"  said  James,  looking  Mghtfully  guilty.  "  I'd 
best  go  for  him.     He  bites  footmen's  calves." 

All  the  party  cried  out  with  laughing  at  this  description ;  even 
Briggs  and  Lady  Jane,  who  was  sitting  mute  during  the  interview 
between  Miss  Crawley  and  her  nephew :  and  Bowls,  without  a  word 
quitted  the  room. 

Still,  by  way  of  punishing  her  elder  nephew,  Miss  Crawley 
persisted  in  being  gracious  to  the  young  Oxonian.  There  were  no 
limits  to  her  kindness  or  her  compliments  when  they  once  began. 
She  told  Pitt  he  might  come  to  dinner,  and  insisted  that  James 
should  accompany  her  in  her  drive,  and  paraded  him  solemnly  up 
and  down  the  cliff,  on  the  back  seat  of  the  barouche.  During  all 
this  excursion,  she  condescended  to  say  civil  things  to  him :  she 
quoted  Italian  and  French  poetry  to  the  poor  bewildered  lad,  and 
persisted  that  he  was  a  fine  scholar,  and  was  perfectly  sure  he  would 
gain  a  gold  medal,  and  be  a  Senior  Wrangler. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  329 

"  Haw,  haw,"  laughed  James,  encouraged  by  these  compliments ; 
"  Senior  Wrangler,  indeed  ;  that's  at  the  other  shop." 

"  What  is  the  other  shop,  my  dear  child  1 "  said  the  lady. 

"  Senior  Wranglers  at  Cambridge,  not  Oxford,"  said  the  scholar, 
with  a  knowing  air ;  and  would  probably  have  been  more  confiden- 
tial, but  that  suddenly  there  appeared  on  the  cliff  in  a  tax-cart, 
drawn  by  a  bang-up  pony,  dressed  in  white  flannel  coats,  with 
mother-of-pearl  buttons,  his  friends  the  Tutbury  Pet  and  the  Rotting- 
dean  Fibber,  with  three  other  gentlemen  of  their  acquaintance,  who 
all  saluted  poor  James  there  in  the  carriage  as  he  sate.  This 
incident  damped  the  ingenuous  youth's  spirits,  and  no  word  of  yea 
or  nay  could  he  be  induced  to  utter  during  the  rest  of  the  drive. 

On  his  return  he  found  his  room  prepared,  and  his  portmanteau 
ready,  and  might  have  remarked  that  Mr.  Bowls's  countenance, 
when  the  latter  conducted  him  to  his  apartments,  wore  a  look  of 
gi-avity,  wonder,  and  compassion.  But  the  thought  of  Mr.  Bowls 
did  not  enter  his  head.  He  was  deploring  the  dreadful  predicament 
in  which  he  found  himself,  in  a  house  full  of  old  women,  jabbering 
French  and  Italian,  and  talking  poetry  to  him.  "  Regidarly  up  a 
tree,  by  jingo  ! "  exclaimed  the  modest  boy,  who  could  not  face  the 
gentlest  of  her  sex — not  even  Briggs— when  she  began  to  talk  to 
him ;  whereas,  put  him  at  Iffley  Lock,  and  he  could  out-slang  the 
boldest  bargeman. 

At  dinner,  James  appeared  choking  in  a  white  neckcloth,  and 
had  the  honour  of  handing  my  Lady  Jane  downstairs,  while  Briggs 
and  Mr.  Crawley  followed  afterwards,  conducting  the  old  lady,  with 
her  apparatus  of  bundles,  and  shawls,  and  cushions.  Half  of  Briggs's 
time  at  dinner  was  spent  in  superintending  the  invalid's  comfort,  and 
in  cutting  up  chicken  for  her  fat  spaniel.  James  did  not  talk  much, 
but  he  made  a  point  of  asking  all  the  ladies  to  drink  wine,  and 
accepted  Mr.  Crawley's  challenge,  and  consumed  the  greater  part  of 
a  bottle  of  champagne  which  Mr.  Bowls  was  ordered  to  produce  in 
his  honour.  The  ladies  having  withdrawn,  and  the  two  cousins  being 
left  together,  Pitt,  the  ex-diplomatist,  became  very  communicative 
and  friendly.  He  asked  after  James's  career  at  college— what  his 
prospects  in  life  were — hoped  heartily  he  would  get  on ;  and,  in  a 
word,  was  frank  and  amiable.  James's  tongue  unloosed  with  the 
port,  and  he  told  his  cousin  his  life,  his  prospects,  his  debts,  his 
troubles  at  the  little-go,  and  his  rows  with  the  proctors,  filling 
rapidly  from  the  bottles  before  him,  and  flying  fi-om  port  to  madeii-a 
with  joyous  activity. 

"The  chief  pleasure  which  my  aunt  has,"  said  Mr.  Crawley, 
filling  his  glass,  "  is  that  people  should  do  as  they  like  in  her  house. 
This  is  Liberty  Hall,  James,  and  you  can't  do  Miss  Crawley  a 


I 


330  VANITY    FAIR 

greater  kindness  than  to  do  as  you  please,  and  ask  for  what  you 
will.  I  know  you  have  all  sneered  at  me  in  the  country  for  being 
a  Tory.  Miss  Crawley  is  liberal  enough  to  suit  any  fancy.  She  is  a 
Republican  in  principle,  and  despises  everything  like  rank  or  title." 

"  Why  are  you  going  to  marry  an  EarFs  daughter '? "  said  James. 

"  My  dear  friend,  remember  it  is  not  poor  Lady  Jane's  fault  that 
she  is  well  born,"  Pitt  replied,  with  a  courtly  air.  "She  cannot 
help  being  a  lady.     Besides,  I  am  a  Tory,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  Jim,  "  there's  nothing  like  old  blood ;  no, 
dammy,  nothing  like  it.  I'm  none  of  your  Radicals.  I  know  what 
it  is  to  be  a  gentleman,  dammy.  See  the  chaps  in  a  boat-race ;  look 
at  the  fellers  in  a  fight;  ay,  look  at  a  dawg  killing  rats, — which  is 
it  wins?  the  good-blooded  ones.  Get  some  more  port,  Bowls,  old 
boy,  whilst  I  buzz  this  bottle  here.     What  was  I  a  saying  ? " 

"  I  think  you  were  speaking  of  dogs  killing  rats,"  Pitt  remarked 
mildly,  handing  his  cousin  the  decanter  to  "  buzz." 

"  Killing  rats  was  1 1  Well,  Pitt,  are  you  a  sporting  man  ?  Do 
you  want  to  see  a  dawg  as  can  kill  a  rat  1  If  you  do,  come  down 
with  me  to  Tom  Corduroy's,  in  Castle  Street  Mews,  and  I'll  show 
you  such  a  bull-terrier  as Pooh  !  gammon,"  cried  James,  burst- 
ing out  laughing  at  his  own  absurdity, — ^^  you  don't  care  about  a 
dawg  or  rat ;  it's  all  nonsense.  I'm  blest  if  I  think  you  know  the 
difference  between  a  dog  and  a  duck." 

"  No ;  by  the  way,"  Pitt  continued  with  increased  blandness,  "  it 
was  about  blood  you  were  talking,  and  the  personal  advantages  which 
people  derive  from  patrician  birth.     Here's  the  fresh  bottle." 

"Blood's  the  word,"  said  James,  gulping  the  ruby  fluid  down. 
"Nothing  like  blood,  sir,  in  bosses,  dawgs,  and  men.  Why,  only 
last  term,  just  before  I  was  rusticated,  that  is,  I  mean  just  before  I 
had  the  measles,  ha,  ha, — there  was  me  and  Ringwood  of  Christ- 
church,  Bob  Ringwood,  Lord  Cinqbars'  son,  having  our  beer  at  tlie 
Bell  at  Blenheim,  when  the  Banbury  bargeman  offered  to  fight  either 
of  us  for  a  bowl  of  punch.  I  couldn't.  My  arm  was  in  a  sling ; 
couldn't  even  take  the  drag  down, — a  brute  of  a  mare  of  mine  had 
fell  with  me  only  two  days  before,  out  with  the  Abingdon,  and  I 
thought  my  arm  was  broke.  Well,  sir,  I  couldn't  finish  him,  but 
Bob  had  his  coat  off  at  once — he  stood  up  to  the  Banbury  man  for 
three  minutes,  and  polished  him  off  in  four  rounds  easy.  Gad,  how 
he  did  drop,  sir,  and  what  was  it  1     Blood,  sir,  all  blood." 

"You  don't  drink,  James,"  the  ex-attach^  continued.  "In  my 
time  at  Oxford,  the  men  passed  round  the  bottle  a  little  quicker 
than  you  young  fellows  seem  to  do." 

"Come,  come,"  said  James,  putting  his  hand  to  his  nose  and 
winking  at  his  cousin  witli  a  pair  of  vinous  eyes,  "  no  jokes,  old  boy ; 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  3^1 

no  trying  it  on  me.  You  want  to  trot  me  out,  but  it's  no  go.  In 
vino  Veritas,  old  boy.  Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo  virorum,  hay?  I 
wish  my  aunt  would  send  down  some  of  this  to  the  governor ;  it's 
a  precious  good  tap."  ^ 

"  You  had  better  ask  her,"  Machiavel  continued,  "  or  make  the 
.best  of  your  time  now.  What  says  the  bard  %  '  Nunc  vino  pellite 
curas,  Cras  ingens  iterabimus  sequor,' "  and  the  Bacchanalian,  quot- 
ing" the  above  with  a  House  of  Commons  air,  tossed  off  nearly  a 
thimbleful  of  wine  with  an  immense  flourish  of  his  glass. 

At  the  Rectory,  when  the  bottle  of  port  wine  was  opened  after 
dinner,  the  young  ladies  had  each  a  glass  from  a  bottle  of  currant 
wine.  Mrs.  Bute  took  one  glass  of  port,  honest  James  had  a  couple 
commonly,  but  as  his  father  grew  very  sulky  if  he  made  further  in- 
roads on  the  bottle,  the  good  lad  generally  refrained  from  trying  for 
more,  and  subsided  either  into  the  currant  wine,  or  to  some  private 
gin-and-water  in  the  stables,  which  he  enjoyed  in  the  company  of 
the  coachman  and  his  pipe.  At  Oxford,  the  quantity  of  wine  was 
unlimited,  but  the  quality  was  inferior :  but  when  quantity  and 
quality  united  as  at  his  aunt's  house,  James  showed  that  he  could 
appreciate  them  indeed ;  and  hardly  needed  any  of  his  cousin's  en- 
couragement in  draining  off  the  second  bottle  supplied  by  Mr.  Bowls, 

When  the  time  for  coffee  came,  however,  and  for  a  return  to  the 
ladies,  of  whom  he  stood  in  awe,  the  young  gentleman's  agreeable 
frankness  left  him,  and  he  relapsed  into  his  usual  surly  timidity ; 
contenting  himself  by  saying  yes  and  no,  by  scowling  at  Lady  Jane, 
and  by  upsetting  one  cup  of  coffee  during  the  evening. 

If  he  did  not  speak  he  yawned  in  a  pitiable  manner,  and  his 
presence  threw  a  damp  upon  the  modest  proceedings  of  the  evening, 
for  Miss  Crawley  and  Lady  Jane  at  their  piquet,  and  Miss  Briggs 
at  her  work,  felt  that  his  eyes  were  wildly  fixed  on  them,  and  were 
uneasy  under  that  maudlin  look. 

"He  seems  a  very  silent,  awkward,  bashful  lad,"  said  Miss 
Crawley  to  Mr.  Pitt. 

"  He  is  more  communicative  in  men's  society  than  with  ladies," 
Machiavel  drily  replied :  perhaps  rather  disappointed  that  the  port 
wine  had  not  made  Jim  speak  more. 

He  had  spent  the  early  part  of  the  next  morning  in  writing  home 
to  his  mother  a  most  flourishing  account  of  his  reception  by  Miss 
Crawley.  But,  ah  !  he  little  knew  what  evils  the  day  was  bringing 
for  him,  and  how  short  his  reign  of  favour  was  destined  to  be.  A 
circumstance  which  Jim  had  forgotten— a  trivial  but  fatal  circum- 
stance—had taken  place  at  the  Cribb's  Arms  on  the  night  before 
he  had  come  to  his  aunt's  house.  It  was  no  other  than  this — Jim, 
who  was  always  of  a  generous  disposition,  and  when  in  his  cups 


33i  VANITY    FAIR 

especially  hospitable,  had  in  the  course  of  the  night  treated  the  Tut- 
bury  champion  and  the  Rottingdean  man,  and  their  friends,  twice  or 
thrice  to  the  refreshment  of  gin-and-water — so  that  no  less  than 
eighteen  glasses  of  that  fluid  at  eightpence  per  glass  were  charged  in 
Mr.  James  Crawley's  bill.  It  was  not  the  amount  of  eightpences,  but 
the  quantity  of  gin,  which  told  fatally  against  poor  James's  character, 
when  his  aunt's  butler,  Mr.  Bowls,  went  down  at  his  mistress's  re- 
quest to  pay  the  young  gentleman's  bill.  The  landlord,  fearing  lest 
the  account  should  be  refused  altogether,  swore  solemnly  that  the  young 
gent  had  consumed  personally  every  farthing's  worth  of  the  liquor : 
and  Bowls  paid  the  bill  finally,  and  showed  it  on  his  return  home  to 
Mrs.  Firkin,  who  was  shocked  at  the  frightful  prodigality  of  gin ;  and 
took  the  bill  to  Miss  Briggs  as  accountant-general ;  who  thought  it 
her  duty  to  mention  the  circumstance  to  her  principal,  Miss  Crawley. 

Had  he  drunk  a  dozen  bottles  of  claret,  the  old  spinster  could 
have  pardoned  him.  Mr.  Fox  and  Mr.  Sheridan  drank  claret. 
Gentlemen  drank  claret.  But  eighteen  glasses  of  gin  consumed 
among  boxers  in  an  ignoble  pot-house — it  was  an  odious  crime  and 
not  to  be  pardoned  readily.  Everything  went  against  the  lad  :  he 
came  home  perfumed  from  the  stables,  whither  he  had  been  to  pay  his 
dog  Towzer  a  visit — and  whence  he  was  going  to  take  his  friend  out 
for  an  airing,  when  he  met  Miss  Crawley  and  her  wheezy  Blenheim 
spaniel,  which  Towzer  would  have  eaten  up  had  not  the  Blenheim 
fled  squealing  to  the  protection  of  Miss  Briggs,  while  the  atrocious 
master  of  the  bulldog  stood  laughing  at  the  horrible  persecution. 

This  day  too  the  unlucky  boy's  modesty  had  likewise  forsaken 
him.  He  was  lively  and  facetious  at  dinner.  During  the  repast 
he  levelled  one  or  two  jokes  against  Pitt  Crawley  :  he  drank  as 
much  wine  as  upon  the  previous  day ;  and  going  quite  unsuspici- 
ously to  the  drawing-room,  began  to  entertain  the  ladies  there  with 
some  choice  Oxford  stories.  He  described  the  different  pugilistic 
qualities  of  Mol)meux  and  Dutch  Sam,  offered  playfully  to  give  Lady 
Jane  the  odds  upon  the  Tutbury  Pet  against  the  Rottingdean  man, 
or  take  them,  as  her  Ladyship  chose  :  and  crowned  the  pleasantry 
by  proposing  to  back  himself  against  his  cousin  Pitt  Crawley,  either 
with' or  without  the  gloves.  "And  that's  a  fair  offer,  my  buck," 
he  said,  with  a  loud  laugh,  slapping  Pitt  on  the  shoulder,  "  and  my 
father  told  me  to  make  it  too,  and  he'll  go  halves  in  the  bet,  ha, 
ha ! "  So  saying,  the  engaging  youth  nodded  knowingly  at  poor 
Miss  Briggs,  and  pointed  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  at  Pitt  Crawley 
in  a  jocular  and  exulting  manner. 

Pitt  was  not  pleased  altogether  perhaps,  but  still  not  unhappy 
in  the  main.  Poor  Jim  had  his  laugh  out :  and  staggered  across  the 
room  with  his  aunt's  candle,  when  the  old  lady  moved  to  retire,  and 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  333 

offered  to  salute  her  with  the  blandest  tipsy  smile :  and  he  took  his  own 
leave  and  went  upstairs  to  his  bedroom  perfectly  satisfied  with  him- 
self, and  with  a  pleased  notion  that  his  aunt's  money  would  be  left 
to  him  in  preference  to  his  father  a(6d  all  the  rest  of  the  family. 

Once  up  in  the  bedroom,  one  would  have  thought  he  could  not 
make  matters  worse ;  and  yet  this  unlucky  boy  did.  The  moon 
was  shining  very  pleasantly  out  on  the  sea,  and  Jim,  attracted  to 
the  window  by  the  romantic  appearance  of  the  ocean  and  the  heavens, 
thought  he  would  further  enjoy  them  while  smoking.  Nobody  would 
smell  the  tobacco,  he  thought,  if  he  cunningly  opened  the  window. 
and  kept  his  head  and  pipe  in  the  fresh  air.  This  he  did :  but 
being  in  an  excited  state,  poor  Jim  had  forgotten  that  his  door  was 
open  all  this  time,  so  that  the  breeze  blowing  inwards  and  a  fine 
thorough  draught  being  established,  the  clouds  of  tobacco  were 
earned  downstairs,  and  arrived  with  quite  undiminished  fragrance 
to  Miss  Crawley  and  Miss  Briggs. 

The  pipe  of  tobacco  finished  the  business :  and  the  Bute-Crawleys 
never  knew  how  many  thousand  pounds  it  cost  them.  Firkin  rushed 
downstairs  to  Bowls,  who  was  reading  out  the  "  Fire  and  the  Frying 
Pan  "  to  his  aide-de-camp  in  a  loud  and  ghostly  voice.  The  dreadful 
secret  was  told  to  him  by  Firkin  with  so  frightened  a  look,  that  for 
the  first  moment  Mr.  Bowls  and  his  young  man  thought  that  robbers 
were  in  the  house ;  the  legs  of  whom  had  probably  been  discovered 
by  the  woman  under  Miss  Crawley's  bed.  When  made  aware  of 
the  fact,  however— to  rush  upstairs  at  three  steps  at  a  time — to 
enter  the  unconscious  James's  apartment,  calling  out,  "  Mr.  James," 
in  a  voice  stifled  with  alarm,  and  to  cry,  "  For  Gawd's  sake,  sir, 
stop  that  'ere  pipe,"  was  the  work  of  a  minute  with  Mr.  Bowls. 
"Oh,  Mr.  James,  what  'aw  you  done ! "  he  said  in  a  voice  of  the 
deepest  pathos,  as  he  threw  the  implement  out  of  the  window. 
"  What  'ave  you  done,  sir  !     Missis  can't  abide  'em." 

"  Missis  needn't  smoke,"  said  James  with  a  frantic  misplaced 
laugh,  and  thought  the  whole  matter  an  excellent  joke.  But  his  feel- 
ings were  very  different  in  the  morning,  when  Mr.  Bowls's  young  man, 
who  operated  upon  Mr.  James's  boots,  and  brought  him  his  hot  water 
to  shave  that  beard  which  he  was  so  anxiously  expecting,  handed  a 
note  in  to  Mr.  James,  in  bed,  in  the  handwriting  of  Miss  Briggs. 

"  Dear  Sir,"  it  said,  "  Miss  Crawley  has  passed  an  exceedingly 
disturbed  night,  owing  to  the  shocking  manner  in  which  the  house 
has  been  polluted  by  tobacco ;  Miss  Crawley  bids  me  say  she  regrets 
that  she  is  too  unwell  to  see  you  before  you  go — and  above  all  that 
she  ever  induced  you  to  remove  from  the  alehouse,  where  she  is  sure 
you  will  be  much  more  comfortable  during  the  rest  of  your  stay  at 
Brighton." 


334  VANITY    FAIR 

And  herewith  honest  James's  career  as  a  candidate  for  his  aunt's 
favour  ended.  He  had  in  fact,  and  without  knowing  it,  done  what 
he  menaced  to  do.     He  had  fought  his  cousin  Pitt  with  the  gloves. 

Where  meanwhile  was  he  who  had  been  once  first  favourite  for 
this  race  for  money  ?  Becky  and  Rawdon,  as  we  have  seen,  were 
come  together  after  Waterloo,  and  were  passing  the  winter  of  1815 
at  Paris  in  great  splendour  and  gaiety.  Rebecca  was  a  good 
economist,  and  the  price  poor  Jos  Sedley  had  paid  for  her  two  horses 
was  in  itself  sufficient  to  keep  their  little  establishment  afloat  for  a 
year,  at  the  least;  there  was  no  occasion  to  turn  into  money  "my 
pistols,  the  same  which  I  shot  Captain  Marker,"  or  the  gold  dressing- 
case,  or  the  cloak  lined  with  sable.  Becky  had  it  made  into  a  pelisse 
for  herself,  in  which  she  rode  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  to  the  admira- 
tion of  all :  and  you  should  have  seen  the  scene  between  her  and  her 
delighted  husband,  whom  she  rejoined  after  the  army  had  entered 
Cambray,  and  when  she  unsewed  herself,  and  let  out  of  her  dress  all 
those  watches,  nicknacks,  bank-notes,  cheques,  and  valuables,  which 
she  had  secreted  in  the  wadding,  previous  to  her  meditated  flight 
from  Brussels !  Tufto  was  charmed,  and  Rawdon  roared  with 
delightful  laughter,  and  swore  that  she  was  better  than  any  play  he 
ever  saw,  by  Jove.  And  the  way  in  which  she  jockeyed  Jos,  and 
which  she  described  with  infinite  fun,  carried  up  his  delight  to  a 
pitch  of  quite  insane  enthusiasm.  He  believed  in  his  wife  as  much 
as  the  French  soldiers  in  Napoleon. 

Her  success  in  Paris  was  remarkable.  All  the  French  ladies 
voted  her  charming.  She  spoke  their  language  admirably.  She 
adopted  at  once  their  grace,  their  liveliness,  their  manner.  Her 
husband  was  stupid  certainly — all  English  are  stupid— and,  besides, 
a  dull  husband  at  Paris  is  always  a  point  in  a  lady's  favour.  He 
was  the  heir  of  the  rich  and  spirituelle  Miss  Crawley,  whose  house 
had  been  open  to  so  many  of  the  French  noblesse  during  the  emigra- 
tion. They  received  the  Colonel's  wife  in  their  own  hotels — "  Why," 
wrote  a  great  lady  to  Miss  Crawley,  who  had  bought  her  lace  and 
trinkets  at  the  Duchess's  own  price,  and  given  her  many  a  dinner 
during  the  pinching  times  after  the  Revolution — "  Why  does  not  our 
dear  Miss  come  to  her  nephew  and  niece,  and  her  attached  friends  in 
Paris?  All  the  world  raffoles  of  the  charming  Mistress  and  her 
espiegle  beauty.  Yes,  we  see  in  her  the  grace,  the  charm,  the  wit 
of  our  dear  friend  Miss  Crawley  !  The  King  took  notice  of  her 
yesterday  at  the  Tuileries,  and  we  are  all  jealous  of  the  attention 
which  Monsieur  pays  her.  If  you  could  have  seen  the  spite  of  a 
certain  stupid  Miladi  Bareacres  (whose  eagle-beak  and  toque  and 
£eathers  may  be  seen  peering  over  the  heads  of  all  assemblies),  when 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  335 

Madame,  the  Duchess  of  Angoul^me,  the  august  daughter  and 
companion  of  kings,  desired  especially  to  be  presented  to  Mrs. 
Crawley,  as  your  dear  daughter  and  protegee,  and  thanked  her  in 
the  name  of  France,  for  all  your  beijevolence  towards  our  unfortunates 
during  their  exile !  She  is  of  all  the  societies,  of  all  the  balls — of 
the  balls — yes — of  the  dances,  no ;  and  yet  how  interesting  and 
pretty  this  fair  creature  looks  surrounded  by  the  homage  of  the  men, 
and  so  soon  to  be  a  mother !  To  hear  her  speak  of  you,  her  pro- 
tectress, her  mother,  would  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  ogres.  How 
she  loves  you  !  how  we  all  love  our  admirable,  our  respectable  Miss 
Crawley ! " 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  this  letter  of  the  Parisian  great  lady  did 
not  by  any  means  advance  Mrs.  Becky's  interest  with  her  admirable, 
her  respectable,  relative.  On  the  contrary,  the  fury  of  the  old 
spinster  was  beyond  bounds,  when  she  found  what  was  Rebecca's 
situation,  and  how  audaciously  she  had  made  use  of  Miss  Crawley's 
name,  to  get  an  entree  into  Parisian  society.  Too  much  shaken  in 
mind  and  body  to  compose  a  letter  in  the  French  language  in  reply 
to  that  of  her  correspondent,  she  dictated  to  Briggs  a  furious  answer 
in  her  own  native  tongue,  repudiating  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  alto- 
gether, and  warning  the  public  to  beware  of  her  as  a  most  artful 

and  dangerous  person.     But  as  Madame  the  Duchess  of  X had 

only  been  twenty  years  in  England,  she  did  not  understand  a  single 
word  of  the  language,  and  contented  herself  by  informing  Mrs. 
Rawdon  Crawley  at  their  next  meeting,  that  she  had  received  a 
charming  letter  from  that  chere  Mees,  and  that  it  was  full  of 
benevolent  things  for  Mrs.  Crawley,  who  began  seriously  to  have 
hopes  that  the  spinster  would  relent. 

Meanwhile,  she  was  the  gayest  and  most  admired  of  English- 
women :  and  had  a  little  European  congress  on  her  reception-night. 
Prussians  and  Cossacks,  Spanish  and  English — all  the  world  was 
at  Paris  during  this  famous  winter :  to  have  seen  the  stars  and 
cordons  in  Rebecca's  humble  saloon  would  have  made  all  Baker 
Street  pale  with  envy.  Famous  warriors  rode  by  her  carriage  in 
the  Bois,  or  crowded  her  modest  little  box  at  the  Opera.  Rawdon 
was  in  the  highest  spirits.  There  were  no  duns  in  Paris  as  yet : 
there  were  parties  every  day  at  Vary's  or  Beauvilliers' ;  play  was 
plentiful  and  his  luck  good.  Tufto  perhaps  was  sulky.  Mrs.  Tufto 
had  come  over  to  Paris  at  her  own  invitation,  and  besides  this  con- 
tretemps, there  were  a  score  of  generals  now  round  Becky's  chair, 
and  she  might  take  her  choice  of  a  dozen  bouquets  when  she  went 
to  the  play.  Lady  Bareacres  and  the  chiefs  of  the  English  society, 
stupid  and  irreproachable  females,  writhed  with  anguish  at  the  suc- 
cess of  the  little  upstart  Becky,  whose  poisoned  jokes  quivered  and 


336  VANITY    FAIR 

rankled  in  their  chaste  breasts.  But  she  had  all  the  men  on  her 
side.  She  fought  the  women  with  indomitable  courage,  and  they 
could  not  talk  scandal  in  any  tongue  but  their  own. 

So  in  fetes,  pleasures,  and  prosperity,  the  winter  of  1815-16 
passed  away  with  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  who  accommodated  her- 
self to  polite  life  as  if  her  ancestors  had  been  people  of  fashion  for 
centuries  past — and  who  from  her  wit,  talent,  and  energy,  indeed 
merited  a  place  of  honour  in  Vanity  Fair.  In  the  early  spring  of 
1816,  Galignani's  Journal  contained  the  following  announcement 
in  an  interesting  comer  of  the  paper :  "On  the  26th  of  March — 
the  Lady  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Crawley,  of  the  Life  Guards  Green 
-  of  a  son  and  heir." 

This  event  was  copied  into  the  London  papers,  out  of  which 
Miss  Briggs  read  the  statement  to  Miss  Crawley,  at  breakfast,  at 
Brighton.  The  intelligence,  expected  as  it  might  have  been,  caused 
a  crisis  in  the  affairs  of  the  Crawley  family.  The  spinster's  rage 
rose  to  its  height,  and  sending  instantly  for  Pitt,  her  nephew,  and 
for  the  Lady  Southdown,  from  Brunswick  Square,  she  requested  an 
immediate  celebration  of  the  marriage  which  had  been  so  long  pend- 
ing between  the  two  famihes.  And  she  announced  that  it  was  her 
intention  to  allow  the  young  couple  a  thousand  a  year  during  her 
lifetime,  at  the  expiration  of  which  the  bulk  of  her  property  would 
be  settled  upon  her  nephew  and  her  dear  niece.  Lady  Jane  Crawley. 
Waxy  came  down  to  ratify  the  deeds— Lord  Southdown  gave  away 
his  sister — she  was  married  by  a  Bishop,  and  not  by  the  Rev.  Bar- 
tholomew Irons — to  the  disappointment  of  the  irregular  prelate. 

When  they  were  married,  Pitt  would  have  liked  to  take  a 
hymeneal  tour  with  his  bride,  as  became  people  of  their  condition. 
But  the  affection  of  the  old  lady  towards  Lady  Jane  had  grown  so 
strong,  that  she  fairly  owned  she  could  not  part  with  her  favourite. 
Pitt  and  his  wife  came  therefore  and  lived  with  Miss  Crawley  :  and 
('greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  poor  Pitt,  who  conceived  himself  a 
most  injured  character — being  subject  to  the  humours  of  his  aunt 
on  one  side,  and  of  his  mother-in-law  on  the  other)  Lady  South- 
down, from  her  neighbouring  house,  reigned  over  the  whole  family 
— Pitt,  Lady  Jane,  Miss  Crawley,  Briggs,  Bowls,  Firkin,  and  all. 
She  pitilessly  dosed  them  with  her  tracts  and  her  medicine,  she 
dismissed  Creamer,  she  installed  Rogers,  and  soon  stripped  Miss 
Crawley  of  even  the  semblance  of  authority.  The  poor  soul  grew  so 
timid  that  she  actually  left  off  bullying  Briggs  any  more,  and  clung 
to  her  niece,  more  fond  and  terrified  every  day.  Peace  to  thee, 
kind  and  selfish,  vain  and  generous  old  heathen  ! — We  shall  see  thee 
no  more.  Let  us  hope  that  Lady  Jane  supported  her  kindly,  and 
led  her  with  gentle  hand  out  of  the  busy  struggle  of  Vanity  Fair, 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

IVIDOW   AND    MOTHER 

THE  news  of  the  great  fights  of  Quatre  Bras  and  Waterloo 
reached  England  at  the  same  time.  The  Gazette  first  pub- 
lished the  result  of  the  two  battles ;  at  which  glorious  intel- 
ligence all  England  thrilled  with  triumph  and  fear.  Particulars  then 
followed ;  and  after  the  announcement  of  the  victories  came  the  list 
of  the  wounded  and  the  slain.  Who  can  tell  the  dread  with  which 
that  catalogue  was  opened  and  read !  Fancy,  at  every  village  and 
homestead  almost  through  the  three  kingdoms,  the  great  news 
coming  of  the  battles  in  Flanders,  and  the  feelings  of  exultation  and 
gratitude,  bereavement  and  sickening  dismay,  when  the  lists  of  the 
regimental  losses  were  gone  through,  and  it  became  known  whether 
the  dear  friend  and  relative  had  escaped  or  fallen.  Anybody  who 
will  take  the  trouble  of  looking  back  to  a  file  of  the  newspapers  of 
the  time  must,  even  now,  feel  at  second  hand  this  breathless  pause 
of  expectation.  The  lists  of  casualties  are  carried  on  fi'om  day  to 
day  :  you  stop  in  the  midst  as  in  a  story  which  is  to  be  continued  in 
our  next.  Think  what  the  feelings  must  have  been  as  those  papers 
followed  each  other  fresh  fi-om  the  press  ;  and  if  such  an  interest  could 
be  felt  in  our  country,  and  about  a  battle  where  but  twenty  thousand 
of  our  people  were  engaged,  think  of  the  condition  of  Europe  for 

(twenty  years  before,  where  people  were  fighting,  not  by  thousands, 
but  by  millions ;  each  one  of  whom,  as  he  struck  his  enemy,  wounded 
horribly  some  other  innocent  heart  far  away.  ^ 

The  news  which  that  famous  Gazette  brought  to  the  Osbonies 
gave  a  dreadful  shock  to  the  family  and  its  chief  The  girls  indulged 
unrestrained  in  their  grief  The  gloom-stricken  old  father  was  still 
more  borne  down  by  his  fate  and  sorrow.  He  strove  to  think  that 
a  judgment  was  on  the  boy  for  his  disobedience.  He  dared  not  own 
that  the  severity  of  the  sentence  frightened  him,  and  that  its  fulfil- 
ment had  come  too  soon  upon  his  curses.  Sometimes  a  shuddering 
terror  struck  him,  as  if  he  had  been  the  author  of  the  doom  which 
he  had  called  down  on  his  son.  There  was  a  chance  before  of  recon- 
ciliation.  The  boy's  wife  might  have  died  ;  or  he  might  have  come 
back  and  said,  Father,  I  have  sinned.     But  there  was  no  hope  now. 


338  VANITY    FAIR 

He  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  gulf  impassable,  haunting  his  parent 
with  sad  eyes.  He  remembered  them  once  before  so  in  a  fever,  when 
every  one  thought  the  lad  was  dying,  and  he  lay  on  his  bed  speech- 
less, and  gazing  with  a  dreadful  gloom.  Good  God  !  how  the  father 
clung  to  the  doctor  then;  and  with  what  a  sickening  anxiety  he 
followed  him  :  what  a  weight  of  grief  was  off  his  mind  when,  after 
the  crisis  of  the  fever,  the  lad  recovered,  and  looked  at  his  father 
once  more  with  eyes  that  recognised  him.  But  now  there  was  no 
help  or  cure,  or  chance  of  reconcilement:  above  all,  there  were  no 
humble  words  to  soothe  vanity  outraged  and  furious,  or  bring  to  its 
natural  flow  the  poisoned,  angry  blood.  And  it  is  hard  to  say  which_ 
pang  it  was  that  tore  the  proud  father's  heart  most  keenly — that  his 
son  should  have  gone  out  of  the  reach  of  his  forgiveness,  or  that  the 
apology  which  his  own  pride  expected  should  have  escaped  him. 

Whatever  his  sensations  might  have  been,  however,  the  stem  old 
man  would  have  no  confidant.  He  never  mentioned  his  son's  name 
to  his  daughters ;  but  ordered  the  elder  to  place  all  the  females  of 
the  establishment  in  mourning ;  and  desired  that  the  male  servants 
should  be  similarly  attired  in  deep  black.  All  parties  and  enter- 
tainments, of  course,  were  to  be  put  off.  No  communications  were 
made  to  his  future  son-in-law,  whose  marriage-day  had  been  fixed : 
but  there  was  enough  in  Mr.  Osborne's  appearance  to  prevent  Mr. 
Bullock  from  making  any  inquiries,  or  in  any  way  pressing  forward 
that  ceremony.  He  and  the  ladies  whispered  about  it  under  their 
voices  in  the  drawing-room  sometimes,  whither  the  father  never 
came.  He  remained  constantly  in  his  own  study ;  the  whole  front 
part  of  the  house  being  closed  until  some  time  after  the  completion 
of  the  general  mourning. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  18th  of  June,  Mr.  Osborne's  ac- 
quaintance ^ir  William  Dobbin,  called  at  Mr.  Osborne's  house  in 
Russell  Square,  with  a  very  pale  and  agitated  face,  and  insisted 
upon  seeing  that  gentleman.  Ushered  into  his  room,  and  after  a 
few  words,  which  neither  the  speaker  nor  the  host  understood,  the 
former  produced  from  an  enclosure  a  letter  sealed  with  a  large  red 
seal.  "My  son.  Major  Dobbin,"  the  Alderman  said,  with  some 
hesitation,  "  despatched  me  a  letter  by  an  officer  of  the  — th,  who 
arrived  in  town  to-day.  My  son's  letter  contains  one  for  you, 
Osborne."  The  Alderman  placed  the  letter  on  the  table,  and  Osborne 
stared  at  him  for  a  moment  or  two  in  silence.  His  looks  frightened 
the  ambassador,  who,  after  looking  guiltily  for  a  little  time  at  the 
grief-stricken  man,  hurried  away  without  another  word. 

The  letter  was  in  George's  well-known  bold  handwriting.  It  was 
that  one  which  he  had  wiitten  before  daybreak  on  the  16th  of  June, 
and  just  before  he  took  leave  of  Amelia.     The  great  red  seal  was 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  339 

emblazoned  with  the  sham  coat  of  arms  which  Osborne  had  assumed 
from  the  Peerage,  with  "  Pax  in  bello "  for  a  motto ;  that  of  the 
ducal  house  with  which  the  vain  old  man  tried  to  fancy  himself 
connected.  The  hand  that  signed  ^t  would  never  hold  pen  or  sword 
more.  The  very  seal  that  sealed  it  had  been  robbed  from  George's 
dead  body  as  it  lay  on  the  field  of  battle.  The  father  knew  nothing 
of  this,  but  sate  and  looked  at  the  letter  in  terrified  vacancy.  He 
almost  fell  when  he  went  to  open  it. 

Have  you  ever  had  a  difference  with  a  dear  friend  'i  How  his 
letters,  written  in  the  period  of  love  and  confidence,  sicken  and 
rebuke  you !  What  a  dreary  mourning  it  is  to  dwell  upon  those 
vehement  protests  of  dead  affection !  What  lying  epitaphs  they 
make  over  the  corpse  of  Love  !  What  dark,  cruel  comments  upon 
Life  and  Vanities  !  Most  of  us  have  got  or  written  drawers  full  of 
them.  They  are  closet-skeletons  which  we  keep  and  shun.  Osborne 
trembled  long  before  the  letter  from  his  dead  son. 

The  poor  boy's  letter  did  not  say  much.  He  had  been  too  proud 
to  acknowledge  the  tenderness  which  his  heart  felt.  He  only  said, 
that  on  the  eve  of  a  great  battle,  he  wished  to  bid  his  father  fare- 
well, and  solemnly  to  implore  his  good  offices  for  the  wife— it  might 
be  for  the  child — whom  he  left  behind  him.  He  owned  with  con- 
trition that  his  irregularities  and  his  extravagance  had  already  wasted 
a  large  part  of  his  mother's  little  fortune.  He  thanked  his  father 
for  his  former  generous  conduct ;  and  he  promised  him,  that  if  he 
fell  on  the  field  or  survived  it,  he  would  act  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
the  name  of  George  Osborne. 

His  English  habit,  pride,  awkwardness  perhaps,  had  prevented 
him  from  saying  more.  His  father  could  not  see  the  kiss  George 
had  placed  on  the  superscription  of  his  letter.  Mr.  Osborne  dropped 
it  with  the  bitterest,  deadliest  pang  of  balked  affection  and'revengev 
His  son  was  still  beloved  and  unforgiven. 
"  About  two  months  afterwards,  however,  as  the  young  ladies  of 
the  family  went  to  church  with  their  father,  they  remarked  how  he 
took  a  different  seat  from  that  which  he  usually  occupied  when  he 
chose  to  attend  divine  worship ;  and  that  from  his  cushion  opposite, 
he  looked  up  at  the  wall  over  their  heads.  This  caused  the  young 
women  likewise  to  gaze  in  the  direction  towards  which  their  father's 
gloomy  eyes  pointed :  and  they  saw  an  elaborate  monument  upon 
the  wall,  where  Britannia  was  represented  weeping  over  an  urn,  and 
a  broken  sword  and  a  couchant  lion  indicated  that  the  piece  of 
sculpture  had  been  erected  in  honour  of  a  deceased  warrior.  The 
sculptors  of  those  days  had  stocks  of  such  funereal  emblems  in 
hand;  as  you  may  see  still  on  the  walls  of  St.  Paul's,  which  are 
covered  with  hundreds  of  these  braggai't  heathen  allegories.     There 


340  VANITY    FAIR 

was  a  constant  demand  for  them  during  the  first  fifteen  years  of  the 
present  century. 

Under  the  memorial  in  question  were  emblazoned  the  well-known 
and  pompous  Osborne  arms ;  and  the  inscription  said,  that  the 
monument  was  "Sacred  to  the  memory  of  George  Osborne,  Junior, 
Esq.,  late  a  Captain  in  his  Majesty's  — th  regiment  of  foot,  who  fell 
on  the  18th  of  June  1815,  aged  28  years,  while  fighting  for  his 
king  and  country  in  the  glorious  victory  of  Waterloo.  Dulce  et 
decorum  est  jwo  pair  id  mori." 

The  sight  of  that  stone  agitated  the  nerves  of  the  sisters  so 
much,  that  Miss  Maria  was  compelled  to  leave  the  church.  The 
congregation  made  way  respectfully  for  those  sobbing  girls  clotlied 
in  deep  black,  and  pitied  the  stem  old  father  seated  opposite  the 
memorial  of  the  dead  soldier.  "  Will  he  forgive  Mrs.  George  1 "  the 
girls  said  to  themselves  as  soon  as  their  ebullition  of  grief  was  over. 
Much  conversation  passed  too  among  the  acquaintances  of  the 
Osborne  family,  who  knew  of  the  rupture  between  tlie  son  and 
father  caused  by  the  former's  marriage,  as  to  the  chance  of  a  recon- 
ciliation with  the  young  widow.  There  were  bets  among  the  gentle- 
men both  about  Russell  Square  and  in  the  City. 

If  the  sisters  had  any  anxiety  regarding  the  possible  recognition 
of  Amelia  as  a  daughter  of  the  family,  it  was  increased  presently, 
and  towards  the  end  of  the  autumn,  by  their  father's  announcement 
that  he  was  going  abroad.  He  did  not  say  whither,  but  they  knew 
at  once  that  his  steps  would  be  turned  towards  Belgium,  and  were 
aware  that  George's  widow  was  still  in  Brussels.  They  had  pretty 
accurate  news  indeed  of  poor  Amelia  from  Lady  Dobbin  and  her 
daughters.  Our  honest  Captain  had  been  promoted  in  consequence 
of  the  death  of  the  second  Major  of  the  regiment  on  the  field  ;  and 
the  brave  O'Dowd,  who  had  distinguished  liimself  greatly  here  as 
upon  all  occasions  where  he  had  a  chance  to  show  his  coolness  and 
valour,  was  a  Colonel  and  Companion  of  the  Bath. 

Very  many  of  the  brave  — th,  who  had  suffered  severely  upon 
both  days  of  action,  were  still  at  Brussels  in  the  autumn,  recovering 
of  their  wounds.  The  city  was  a  vast  military  hospital  for  months 
after  the  great  battles ;  and  a ;  men  and  officers  began  to  rally  from 
their  hurts,  the  gardens  and  places  of  public  resort  swarmed  with 
maimed  warriors,  old  and  young,  who,  just  rescued  out  of  death,  fell 
to  gambling,  and  gaiety,  and  love-making,  as  people  of  Vanity  Fair 
will  do.  Mr.  Osborne  found  out  some  of  the  — th  easily.  He 
knew  their  uniform  quite  well,  and  had  been  used  to  follow  all  the 
promotions  and  exchanges  in  the  regiment,  and  loved  to  talk  about 
it  and  its  officers  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  number.  On  tlie  day 
after  his  arrival  at  Brussels,  and  as  he  issued  from  his  hotel,  which 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  341 

faced  the  park,  lie  saw  a  soldier  in  the  well-known  facings,  reposing 
on  a  stone  bench  in  the  garden,  and  went  and  sate  down  trembling 
by  the  wounded  convalescent  man. 

"  Were  you  in  Captain  Osbome^  company  1 "  he  said,  and  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  he  was  my  son,  sir." 

The  man  was  not  of  the  Captain's  company,  but  he  lifted  up  his 
un wounded  arm  and  touched  his  cap  sadly  and  respectfully  to  the 
haggard  broken -spirited  gentleman  who  questioned  him.  "The 
whole  army  didn't  contain  a  finer  or  a  better  officer,"  the  soldier 
said.  "  The  Sergeant  of  the  Captain's  company  (Captain  Raymond 
had  it  now)  was  in  town,  though,  and  was  just  well  of  a  shot  in  the 
shoulder.  His  honour  might  see  him  if  he  liked,  who  could  tell  him 
anything  he  wanted  to  know  about^about  the  — th's  actions.  But 
his  honour  had  seen  Major  Dobbin,  no  doubt,  the  brave  Captain's 
great  friend ;  and  Mrs.  Osborne,  who  was  here  too,  and  had  been 
very  bad,  he  heard  everybody  say.  They  say  she  was  out  of  her 
mind  like  for  six  weeks  or  more.  But  your  honour  knows  all  about 
that — and  asking  your  pardon  " — the  man  added. 

Osborne  put  a  guinea  into  the  soldier's  hand,  and  told  him  he 
should  have  another  if  he  would  bring  the  Sergeant  to  the  Hotel  du 
Pare :  a  promise  which  very  soon  brought  the  desired  officer  to  Mr. 
Osborne's  presence.  And  the  first  soldier  went  away;  and  after 
telling  a  comrade  or  two  how  Captain  Osborne's  father  was  arrived, 
and  what  a  free-handed  generous  gentleman  he  was,  they  went  and 
made  good  cheer  with  drink  and  feasting,  as  long  as  the  guineas 
lasted  which  had  come  from  the  proud  purse  of  the  mourning  old 
father. 

In  the  Sergeant's  company,  who  was  also  just  convalescent, 
Osborne  made  the  journey  of  Waterloo  and  Quatre  Bras,  a  journey 
which  thousands  of  his  countrymen  were  then  taking.  He  took  the 
Sergeant  Avith  him  in  his  carriage,  and  went  through  both  fields 
under  his  guidance.  He  saw  the  point  of  the  road  where  the 
regiment  marched  into  action  on  the  16th,  and  the  slope  down  which 
they  drove  the  French  cavalry  who  were  pressing  on  the  retreating 
Belgians.  There  wtis  the  spot  where  the  noble  Captain  cut  down 
the  French  officer  who  was  grappling  with  the  young  Ensign  for  the 
colours,  the  Colour-Sergeants  having  been  shot  down.  Along  this 
road  they  retreated  on  the  next  day,  and  here  was  the  bank  at 
which  the  regiment  bivouacked  under  the  rain  of  the  night  of  the 
17th.  Further  on  was  the  position  which  they  took  and  held 
during  the  day,  forming  time  after  time  to  receive  the  charge  of  the 
enemy's  horsemen  and  lying  down  under  the  shelter  of  the  bank  from 
the  furious  French  cannonade.  And  it  was  at  this  declivity  when 
at  evening  the  whole  English  line  received  the  order  to  advance,  as 


^  34«  VANITY    FAIR 

the  enemy  fell  back  after  his  last  charge,  that  the  Captain,  hurraying 
and  rushing  down  the  hill  waving  his  sword,  received  a  shot  and  fell 
dead.  "  It  was  Major  Dobbin  who  took  back  the  Captain's  body 
to  Brussels,"  the  Sergeant  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  had  him  buried, 
as  your  honour  knows."  The  peasants  and  relic-hunters  about  the 
place  were  screaming  round  the  pair,  as  the  soldier  told  his  story, 
offering  for  sale  all  sorts  of  mementoes  of  the  fight,  crosses,  and 
epaulets,  and  shattered  cuirasses,  and  eagles. 

Osborne  gave  a  sumptuous  reward  to  the  Sergeant  when  he 

parted  with  him,  after  having  visited  the  scenes  of  his  son's  last 

exploits.     His  burial-place  he  had  already  seen.     Indeed,  he  had 

driven  thither  immediately  after  his  arrival  at  Brussels.     George's 

body  lay  in  the  pretty  burial-ground  of  Laeken,  near  the  city ;  in 

which  place,  having  once  visited  it  on  a  party  of  pleasure,  he  had 

lightly  expressed  a  wish  to  have  his  grave  made.     And  there  the 

young  officer  was  laid  by  his  friend,  in  the  unconsecrated  comer  of 

the  garden,  separated  by  a  little  hedge  from  the  temples  and  towers 

and  plantations  of  flowers  and  shrubs,  under  which  the  Roman 

Catholic  dead  repose.     It  seemed  a  humiliation  to  old  Osborne  to 

/    think  that  his  son,  an  English  gentleman,  a  captain  in  the  famous 

I      British  army,  should  not  be  found  worthy  to  lie  in  ground  where 

I      mere  foreigners  were  buried.     Which  of  us  is  there  can  tell  how 

\     much  vanity  lurks  in  our  warmest  regard  for  others,  and  how  selfish 

\_our  love  is  %     Old  Osborne  did  not  speculate  much  on  the  mingled 

nature  of  his  feelings,  and  how  his  instinct  and  selfishness  were 

combating  together.     He  firmly  believed  that  everything  he  did  was 

J       right,  that  he  ought  on  all  occasions  to  have  his  own  way — and  like 

the  sting  of  a  wasp  or  serpent  his  hatred  rushed  out  armed  and 

poisonous  against  anything  like  opposition.     HfeJ^yas  jiroud  of  his 

hatred  as  of  everything  else.     Always  to  be  right,  always  to  trample 

forward,  and  never  to  doubt,  are  not  these  the  great  qualities  with 

^   which  dullness  takes  the  lead  in  the  world  ? 

As  after  the  drive  to  Waterloo,  Mr.  Osborne's  carriage  was  Hear- 
ing the  gates  of  the  city  at  sunset,  they  met  another  open  barouche, 
in  which  were  a  couple  of  ladies  and  a  gentleman,  and  by  the  side  of 
which  an  officer  was  riding.  Osborne  gave  a  start  back,  and  the 
Sergeant,  seated  with  him,  cast  a  look  of  surprise  at  his  neighbour, 
as  he  touched  his  cap  to  the  officer,  who  mechanically  returned  his 
salute.  It  was  Amelia,  with  the  lame  young  Ensign  by  her  side,  and 
opposite  to  her  her  faithful  friend  Mrs.  O'Dowd.  It  was  Amelia, 
but  how  changed  from  the  fresh  and  comely  girl  Osborne  knew.  Her 
face  was  white  and  thin.  Her  pretty  brown  hair  was  parted  under 
a  widow's  cap — the  poor  child.  Her  eyes  were  fixed,  and  looking 
nowhere.    They  stared  blank  in  the  face  of  Osborne,  as  the  carriages 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  343 

crossed  each  other,  but  she  did  not  know  him ;  nor  did  he  recognise 
her  until,  looking  up,  he  saw  Dobbin  riding  by  her :  and  then  he 
knew  who  it  was.  He  hated  her.  He  did  not  know  how  much 
until  he  saw  her  there.  When  her^arriage  had  passed  on,  he  turned 
and  stared  at  the  Sergeant,  with  a  curse  and  defiance  in  his  eye  cast 
at  his  companion,  who  could  not  help  looking  at  him — as  much  as  _ 
to  say  "  How  dare  you  look  at  me  1  Damn  you  !  I  do  hate  her. '  1 
It  is  she  who  has  tumbled  my  hopes  and  all  my  pride  down."  J 
"  Tell  the  scoundrel  to  drive  on  quick,"  he  shouted  with  an  oath,  to 
the  lackey  on  the  box.  A  minute  afterwards,  a  horse  came  clattering 
over  the  pavement  behind  Osborne's  carriage,  and  Dobbin  rode  up. 
His  thoughts  had  been  elsewhere  as  the  carriages  passed  each  other, 
and  it  was  not  until  he  had  ridden  some  paces  forward,  that  he 
remembered  it  was  Osborne  who  had  just  passed  him.  Then  he 
turned  to  examine  if  the  sight  of  her  father  in-law  had  made  any  im- 
pression on  Amelia,  but  the  poor  girl  did  not  know  who  had  passed. 
Then  William,  who  daily  used  to  accompany  her  in  his  drives, 
taking  out  his  watch,  made  some  excuse  about  an  engagement  which 
he  suddenly  recollected,  and  so  rode  off.  She  did  not  remark  that 
either :  but  sate  looking  before  her,  over  the  homely  landscape  to- 
wards the  woods  in  the  distance,  by  which  George  marched  away. 

"  Mr,  Osborne,  Mr.  Osborne  !  "  cried  Dobbin,  as  he  rode  up  and 
held  out  his  hand.  Osborne  made  no  motion  to  take  it,  but  shouted 
out  once  more  and  with  another  curse  to  his  servant  to  drive  on. 

Dobbin  laid  his  hand  on  the  carriage  side.  "  I  will  see  you,  sir," 
he  said.     "  I  have  a  message  for  you." 

"  From  that  woman  1 "  said  Osborne  fiercely 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  from  yoiu*  son ; "  at  which  Osborne 
fell  back  into  the  corner  of  his  carriage,  and  Dobbin,  allowing  it  to 
pass  on,  rode  close  behind  it,  and  so  through  the  town  until  they 
reached  Mr.  Osborne's  hotel,  and  without  a  word.  There  he  followed 
Osborne  up  to  his  apartments,  George  had  often  been  in  the  rooms ;  , 
they  were  the  lodgings  which  the  Crawleys  had  occupied  during  their  ) 
stay  in  Brussels.  -^ 

"  Pray,  have  you  any  commands  for  me,  Captain  Dobbin,  or,  I 
beg  yoiu"  pardon,  I  should  say  Major  Dobbin,  since  better  men  than 
you  are  dead,  and  you  step  into  their  shoes  ?  "  said  Mr.  Osborne,  in 
that  sarcastic  tone  which  he  sometimes  was  pleased  to  assume, 

"  Better  men  are  dead,"  Dobbin  replied.  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  about  one." 

"  Make  it  short,  sir."  said  the  other  with  an  oath,  scowling  at 
his  visitor. 

"I  am  here  as  his  closest  friend,"  the  Major  resumed,  "and  the 
executor  of  his  will.     He  made  it  before  he  went  into  action.     Are 


344 


VANITY    FAIR 


yoii  aware  how  small  his  means  are,  and  of  the  straitened  circum- 
stances of  his  widow  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  his  widow,  sir,"  Osborne  said.  "  Let  her  go 
back  to  her  father."  But  the  gentleman  whom  he  addressed  was 
determined  to  remain  in  good  temper,  and  went  on  without  heeding 
the  interruption. 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,  Mrs.  Osborne's  condition  1  Her  life  and 
her  reason  almost  have  been  shaken  by  the  blow  which  has  fallen 
on  her.  It  is  very  doubtfid  whether  she  will  rally.  There  is  a 
chance  left  for  her,  however,  and  it  is  about  this  I  came  to  speak 
to  you.  She  will  be  a  mother  soon.  Will  you  visit  the  parent's 
oifence  upon  the  child's  head  1  or  will  you  forgive  the  child  for  poor 
George's  sake  ? " 

Osborne  broke  out  into  a  rhapsody  of  self-praise  and  impreca- 
tions : — -by  the  first,  excusing  himself  to  his  own  conscience  for  his 
conduct ;  by  the  second,  exaggerating  the  undutifulness  of  George. 
No  father  in  all  England  could  have  behaved  more  generously  to  a 
son,  who  had  rebelled  against  him  wickedly.  He  had  died  without 
even  so  much  as  confessing  he  was  wrong.  Let  him  take  the  conse- 
quences of  his  undutifulness  and  folly.  As  for  himself,  Mr.  Osborne, 
he  was  a  man  of  his  word.  He  had  sworn  never  to  speak  to  that 
woman,  or  to  recognise  her  as  his  son's  wife.  "And  that's  what 
you  may  tell  her,"  he  concluded  with  an  oath ;  "  and  that's  what  I 
will  stick  to  to  the  last  day  of  my  life." 

There  was  no  hope  from  that  quarter  then.  The  widow  must 
live  on  her  slender  pittance,  or  on  such  aid  as  Jos  could  give  her. 
"I  might  tell  her,  and  she  would  not  heed  it,"  thought  Dobbin 
sadly :  for  the  poor  girl's  thoughts  were  not  here  at  all  since  her 
catastrophe,  and,  stupefied  under  the  pressure  of  her  sorrow,  good 
and  evil  were  alike  indifferent  to  her. 

So,  indeed,  were  even  friendship  and  kindness.  She  received 
them  both  uncomplainingly,  and  having  accepted  them,  relapsed  into 
her  grief. 

Suppose  some  twelve  months  after  the  above  conversation  took 
place  to  have  passed  in  the  life  of  our  poor  Amelia.  She  has  spent 
the  first  portion  of  that  time  in  a  sori'ow  so  profound  and  pitiable, 
that  we  who  have  been  watching  and  describing  some  of  the  emo- 
tions of  that  weak  and  tender  heart,  must  draw  back  in  the  presence 
of  the  cruel  grief  under  which  it  is  bleeding.  Tread  silently  round 
the  hapless  couch  of  the  poor  prostrate  soul.  Shut  gently  the  door 
of  the  dark  chamber  wherein  she  suffers,  as  those  kind  people  did 
who  nursed  her  through  the  first  months  of  her  pain,  and  never  left 
her  until  heaven  had  sent  her  consolation.     A  day  came — of  almost 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  345 

teiTificcl  delight  and  wonder — when  the  poor  widowed  girl  pressed 
a  child  upon  her  breast  -  a  child,  with  the  eyes  of  George  who  was 
gone— a  little  boy,  as  beautiful  as  a  cherub.  What  a  miracle  it 
was  to  hear  its  first  cry  !  How  sjae  laughed  and  wept  over  it — how 
love  and  hope,  and  prayer  woke  again  in  her  bosom  as  the  baby 
nestled  there.  She  was  safe.  The  doctors  who  attended  her,  and 
liad  feared  for  her  life  or  for  her  brain,  had  waited  anxiously  for 
this  crisis  before  they  could  pronounce  that  either  was  secure.  It 
was  worth  the  long  months  of  doubt  and  dread  which  the  persons 
who  had  constantly  been  with  her  had  passed,  to  see  her  eyes  once 
more  beaming  tenderly  upon  them. 

Our  friend  Dobbin  was  one  of  them.  It  was  he  who  brought 
her  back  to  England  and  to  her  mother's  house ;  when  Mrs.  O'Dowd, 
receiving  a  peremptory  summons  from  her  Colonel,  had  been  forced 
to  quit  her  patient.  To  see  Dobbin  holding  the  infant,  and  to  hear 
Amelia's  laugh  of  triumph  as  she  watched  him,  would  have  done 
any  man  good  who  had  a  sense  of  humour.  William  was  the  god- 
father of  the  child,  and  exerted  his  ingenuity  in  the  purchase  of 
cups,  spoons,  pap-boats,  and  corals  for  this  little  Christian. 

How  his  mother  nursed  him,  and  dressed  him,  and  lived  upon 
him ;  how  she  drove  away  all  nurses,  and  would  scarce  allow  any 
hand  but  her  own   to  touch  him;  how  she  considered  that  the 
greatest  favour  she  could  confer  upon  his  godfather.  Major  Dobbin, 
was  to  allow  the  Major  occasionally  to  dandle  him,  need  not  be 
told   here.       This   child   was   her   being.      Her   existence  was   a 
maternal  caress.     She  enveloped  the  feeble  and  unconscious  crea- 
ture with  love  and  worship.     It  was  her  life  which  the  baby  drank 
in  from  her  bosom.     Of  nights,  and  wiien  alone,  she  had  stealthy 
and  intense  raptures  of  motherly  love,  such  as  God's  marvellous 
care  has  awarded  to  the  female  instinct — ^joys  how  far  higher  and 
lower  than  reason — blind  beautiful  devotions  which  only  women's 
hearts  know.     It  was  William  Dobbin's  task  to  muse  upon  these 
movements  of  Amelia's,  and  to  watch  her  heart;   and  if  his  love      -.. 
made  him  divine  almost  all  the  feelings  which  agitated  it,  alas  !  he^TjJ^ 
could  see  with  a  fatal  perspicuity  that  there  was  no  place  there  for    /J^^a*  ^ 
him.     And  so,  gently,  he  bore  his  fate,  knowing  it,  and  content  to    f^*^*^  ' 
bear  it. 

I  suppose  Amelia's  father  and  mother  saw  through  the  intentions 
of  the  Major,  and  were  not  ill-disposed  to  encourage  him  ;  for  Dobbin 
visited  their  house  daily,  and  stayed  for  hours  with  them,  or  with 
Amelia,  or  with  the  honest  landlord,  Mr.  Clapp,  and  his  family. 
He  brought,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  presents  to  everybody,  and 
almost  every  day ;  and  went  with  the  landlord's  little  girl,  who  was 
rather  a  favourite  with  Amelia,  by  the  name  of  Major  Sugarplums. 

2 


346  VANITY    FAIR 

It  was  this  little  child  who  commonly  acted  as  mistress  of  the  cere* 
monies  to  introduce  him  to  Mrs.  Osborne.  She  laughed  one  day 
when  Major  Sugarplums'  cab  drove  up  to  Fulham,  and  he  descended 
from  it,  bringing  out  a  wooden  horse,  a  drum,  a  trumpet,  and  ather 
warlike  toys,  for  little  Georgy,  who  was  scarcely  six  months  old,  and 
for  whom  the  articles  in  question  were  entirely  premature. 

The  child  was  asleep.  "  Hush  ! "  said  Amelia,  annoyed,  per- 
haps, at  the  creaking  of  the  Major's  boots ;  and  she  held  out  her 
hand ;  smiling  because  William  could  not  take  it  until  he  had  rid 
himself  of  his  cargo  of  toys.  "  Go  downstairs,  little  Mary,"  said  he 
presently  to  the  child,  "I  want  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Osborne."  She 
looked  up  rather  astonished,  and  laid  down  the  infant  on  its  bed. 

"  I  am  come  to  say  good-bye,  Amelia,"  said  he,  taking  her  slender 
little  white  hand  gently. 

"  Good-bye  1  and  where  are  you  going  1 "  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Send  the  letters  to  the  agents,"  he  said ;  "  they  will  forward 
them;  for  you  will  write  to  me,  won't  youl  I  shall  be  away  a 
long  time." 

"  I'll  write  to  you  about  Georgy,"  she  said.  "  Dear  William, 
how  good  you  have  been  to  him  and  to  me.  Look  at  him.  Isn't 
he  like  an  angel  1 " 

The  little  pink  hands  of  the  child  closed  mechanically  round  the 
iyhonest  soldier's  finger,  and  Amelia  looked  up  in  his  face  with  bright 
niaternal  pleasure.  The  cruellest  looks  could  not  have  wounded  him 
more  than  that  glance  of  hopeless  kindness.  He  bent  over  the  child 
and  mother.  He  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  And  it  was  only 
with  all  his  strength  that  he  could  force  himself  to  say  a  God 
bless  you.  "  God  bless  you,"  said  Amelia,  and  held  up  her  face  and 
kissed  him. 

"  Hush  !  Don't  wake  Georgy  !  "  she  added,  as  William  Dobbin 
went  to  the  door  with  heavy  steps.  She  did  not  hear  the  noise  of 
his  cab-wheels  as  he  drove  away :  she  was  looking  at  the  child,  who 
was  laughing  in  his  sleep. 


v-* 


y 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

now  TO  LIVE  WELL  ON  NOTHING  A   YEAR 

1  SUPPOSE  there  is  no  man  in  this  Vanity  Fair  of  ours  so  little 
observant  as  not  to  think  sometimes  about  the  worldly  affairs 
of  his  acquaintances,  or  so  extremely  charitable  as  not  to 
wonder  how  his  neighbour  Jones,  or  his  neighbour  Smith,  can  make 
both  ends  meet  at  the  end  of  the  year.  With  the  utmost  regard 
for  the  family,  for  instance  (for  I  dine  with  them  twice  or  thrice  in 
the  season),  I  cannot  but  own  that  the  appearance  of  the  Jenkinses 
in  the  Park,  in  the  large  barouche  with  the  grenadier-footmen,  will 
surprise  and  mystify  me  to  my  dying  day :  for  though  I  know  the 
equipage  is  only  jobbed,  and  all  the  Jenkins  people  are  on  board 
wages,  yet  those  three  men  and  the  carriage  must  represent  an 
expense  of  six^  hundred  a  year  at  the  very  least — and  then  there 
are  the  splendid  dinners,  the  two  boys  at  Eton,  the  prize  governess 
and  masters  for  the  girls,  the  trip  abroad,  or  to  Eastbourne  or 
Worthing,  in  the  autumn,  the  annual  ball  with  a  supper  from 
Gunter's  (who,  by  the  way,  supplies  most  of  the  Jirst-rate  dinners 
which  J.  gives,  as  I  know  very  well,  having  been  invited  to  one  of 
them  to  fill  a  vacant  place,  when  I  saw  at  once  that  these  repasts 
are  very  superior  to  the  common  nm  of  entertainments  for  which 
the  humble^'  sort  of  J.'s  acquaintances  get  cards) — who,  I  say,  with 
the  most  good-natured  feelings  in  the  world,  can  help  wondering 
how  the  Jenkinses  make  out  matters  ?  What  is  Jenkins  1  We  all 
know — Commissioner  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing  Wax  Office,  with 
£1200  a  year  for  a  salary.  Had  his  wife  a  private  fortune  1 
Pooh  ! — Miss  Flint — one  of  eleven  children  of  a  small  squire  in 
Buckinghamshire.  All  she  ever  gets  from  her  family  is  a  turkey  at 
Christmas,  in  exchange  for  which  she  has  to  board  two  or  three  of 
her  sisters  in  the  off  season ;  and  lodge  and  feed  her  brothers  when 
they  come  to  town.  How  does  Jenkins  balance  his  income?  I 
say,  as  every  friend  of  his  must  say.  How  is  it  that  he  has  not  been 
outlawed  long  since ;  and  that  he  ever  came  back  (as  he  did  to  the 
surprise  of  everybody)  last  year  from  Boulogne  1 

"  I "  is  here  introduced  to  personify  the  world  in  general — the 
Mrs.  Grundy  of  each  respected  reader's  private  circle — every  one  of 


348  VANITY    FAIR 

whom  can  point  to  some  families  of  his  acquaintance  who  live 
nobody  knows  how.  Many  a  glass  of  witie  have  we  all  of  us 
drunk,  I  have  very  little  doubt,  hob-and-nobbing  with  the  hos- 
pitable giver,  and  wondering  how  the  deuce  he  paid  for  it. 
/  Some  three  or  four  years  after  his  stay  in  Paris,  when  Rawdon 
I  Crawley  and  his  wife  were  estabhshed  in  a  very  small  comfortable 
house  in  Curzon  Street,  May  Fair,  there  was  scarcely  one  of  the 
numerous  friends  whom  they  entertained  at  dinner  that  did  not  ask 
the  above  question  regarding  them.  The  novelist,  it  has  been  said 
before,  knows  everything,  and  as  I  am  in  a  situation  to  be  able  to 
tell  the  public  how  Crawley  and  his  wife  lived  without  any  income, 
may  I  entreat  the  public  newspapers  which  are  in  the  habit  of 
extracting  portions  of  the  various  periodical  works  now  published, 
not  to  reprint  the  following  exact  narrative  and  calculations — of 
which  I  ought,  as  the  discoverer  (and  at  some  expense,  too),  to  have 
the  benefit  1  My  son,  I  would  say,  were  I  blessed  with  a  child  ^- 
you  may  by  deep  inquiry  and  constant  intercourse  with  him,  learn 
how  a  man  lives  comfortably  on  nothing  a  year.  But  it  is  best  not 
to  be  intimate  with  gentlemen  of  this  profession,  and  to  take  the 
calculations  at  second  hand,  as  you  do  logarithms,  for  to  work  them 
yourself,  depend  upon  it,  will  cost  you  something  considerable. 

On  nothing  per  annum  then,  and  during  a  course  of  some  two  or 
three  years,  of  which  we  can  afford  to  give  but  a  very  brief  history, 
Crawley  and  his  wife  lived  very  happily  and  comfortably  at  Paris. 
It  was  in  this  period  that  he  quitted  the  Guards,  and  sold  out  of  the 
army.  When  we  find  him  again,  his  mustachios  and  the  title  of 
Colonel  on  his  card  are  the  only  relics  of  his  military  profession. 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  Rebecca,  soon  after  her  arrival  in 
Paris,  took  a  very  smart  and  leading  position  in  the  society  of  that 
capital,  and  was  welcomed  at  some  of  the  most  distinguished  houses 
of  the  restored  French  nobility.  The  English  men  of  fashion  in 
Paris  courted  her,  too,  to  the  disgust  of  the  ladies  their  wives,  who 
could  not  bear  the  parvenue.  For  some  months  the  salons  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain,  in  which  her  place  was  secured,  and  the 
splendours  of  the  new  Court,  where  she  was  received  with  much 
distinction  delighted,  and  perhaps  a  little  intoxicated  Mrs.  Craw^ley, 
who  may  have  been  disposed  during  this  period  of  elation  to  slight 
the  people — honest  young  military  men  mostly — who  formed  her 
husband's  chief  society. 

But  the  Colonel  yawned  sadly  among  the  duchesses  and  great 
ladies  of  the  Court.  The  old  women  who  played  ecarte  made  such 
a  noise  about  a  five-franc  piece,  that  it  was  not  worth  Colonel 
Crawley's  while  to  sit  down  at  a  card-table.  The  wit  of  their 
conversation  he  could  not  appreciate,  being  ignorant  of  their  language. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  349 

And  what  good  could  his  wife  get,  he  urged,  by  making  curtsies 
every  night  to  a  whole  circle  of  Princesses  ?  He  left  Rebecca  pre- 
sently to  frequent  these  parties  alone ;  resuming  his  own  simple 
pursuits  and  amusements  amongst^  the  amiable  friends  of  his  own 
choice. 

The  truth  is,  when  we  say  of  a  gentleman  that  he  lives  elegantly 
on  nothing  a  year,  we  use  the  word  "  nothing  "  to  signify  something 
unknown ;  meaning,  simply,  that  we  don't  know  how  the  gentleman 
in  question  defrays  the  expenses  of  his  establishment.  Now,  our 
friend  the  Colonel  had  a  great  aptitude  for  all  games  of  chance  :  and 
exercising  himself,  as  he  continually  did,  with  the  cards,  the  dice- 
box,  or  the  cue,  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  he  attained  a  much 
greater  skill  in  the  use  of  these  articles  than  men  can  possess  who 
only  occasionally  handle  them.  To  use  a  cue  at  billiards  well  is 
like  using  a  pencil,  or  a  German  flute,  or  a  small-sword — you  cannot 
master  any  one  of  these  implements  at  first,  and  it  is  only  by  repeated 
study  and  perseverance,  joined  to  a  natural  taste^  that  a  man  can 
excel  in  the  handling  of  either.  Now  Crawley,  from  being  only  a 
brilliant  amateur,  had  grown  to  be  a  consummate  master  of  billiards. 
Like  a  great  general,  his  genius  used  to  rise  with  the  danger,  and 
when  the  luck  had  been  unfavourable  to  him  for  a  whole  game,  and 
the  bets  were  consequently  against  him,  he  would,  with  consummate 
skill  and  boldness,  make  some  prodigious  hits  which  would  restore 
the  battle,  and  come  in  a  victor  at  the  end,  to  the  astonishment  of 
everybody — of  everybody,  that  is,  who  was  a  stranger  to  his  play. 
Those  who  were  accustomed  to  see  it  were  cautious  how  they  staked 
their  money  against  a  man  of  such  sudden  resources,  and  brilliant 
and  overpowering  skill. 

At  games  of  cards  he  was  equally  skilful ;  for  though  he  would 
constantly  lose  money  at  the  commencement  of  an  evening,  playing 
so  carelessly  and  making  such  blunders,  that  new  comers  were  often 
inclined  to  think  meanly  of  his  talent ;  yet  when  roused  to  action, 
and  awakened  to  caution  by  repeated  small  losses,  it  was  remarked 
that  Crawley's  play  became  quite  difterent,  and  that  he  was  pretty 
sure  of  beating  his  enemy  thoroughly  before  the  might  was  over. 
Indeed,  very  few  men  could  say  that  they  ever  had  the  better 
of  him. 

His  successes  were  so  repeated  that  no  wonder  the  envious  and  I 
the  vant|uished  spoke  sometimes  with  bitterness  regarding  them.  ,) 
And  as  the  French  say  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  who  never  suf- 
fered a  defeat,  that  only  an  astonishing  series  of  lucky  accidents 
enabled  him  to  be  an  invariable  winner ;  yet  even  they  allow  that 
he  cheated  at  Waterloo,  and  was  enabled  to  win  the  last  great  trick  *. 
— so  it  was  hinted  at  headquarters  in  England,  that  some  foul  play 


350  VANITY    FAIR 

must  have  taken  place  in  order  to  account  for  the  continuous  suc- 
cesses of  Colonel  Crawley. 

Though  Frascati's  and  the  Salon  were  open  at  that  time  in  Paris, 
the  mania  for  play  was  so  widely  spread,  that  the  public  gambling- 
rooms  did  not  suffice  for  the  general  ardour,  and  gambling  went  on 
in  private  houses  as  much  as  if  there  had  been  no  public  means  for 
gratifying  the  passion.  At  Crawley's  charming  little  reunions  of 
an  evening  this  fatal  amusement  commonly  was  practised — much  to 
good-natured  little  Mrs.  Crawley's  annoyance.  She  spoke  about  her 
husband's  passion  for  dice  with  the  deepest  grief;  she  bewailed  it 
to  everybody  who  came  to  her  house.  She  besought  the  young 
fellows  never,  never  to  touch  a  box;  and  when  young  Creen,  of 
the  Rifles,  lost  a  very  considerable  sum  of  money,  Rebecca  passed  a 
whole  night  in  tears,  as  the  servant  told  the  unfortunate  gentleman, 
and  actually  went  on  her  knees  to  her  husband  to  beseech  him  to 
remit  the  debt,  and  burn  the  acknowledgment.  How  could  he? 
He  had  lost  just  as  much  himself  to  Blackstone  of  the  Hussars,  and 
Count  Punter  of  the  Hanoverian  Cavalry.  Green  might  have  any 
decent  time ;  but  pay  % — of  course  he  must  pay ;  to  talk  of  burning 
I  0  U's  was  child's-play. 

Other  officers,  chiefly  young — for  the  young  fellows  gathered 
round  Mrs.  Crawley— came  from  her  parties  with  long  faces,  having 
dropped  more  or  less  money  at  her  fatal  card-tables.  Her  house 
began  to  have  an  unfortunate  reputation.  The  old  hands  warned 
the  less  experienced  of  their  danger.  Colonel  O'Dowd,  of  the  — th 
regiment,  one  of  those  occupying  in  Paris,  warned  Lieutenant 
Spooney  of  that  corps.  A  loud  and  violent  fracas  took  place  between 
the  infantry-colonel  and  his  lady,  who  were  dining  at  the  Caf^  de 
Paris,  and  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Crawley,  who  were  also  taking  their 
meal  there.  The  ladies  engaged  on  both  sides.  Mrs.  O'Dowd 
snapped  her  fingers  in  Mrs.  Crawley's  face,  and  called  her  husband 
"  no  betther  than  a  black-leg."  Colonel  Crawley  challenged  Colonel 
O'Dowd,  C.B.  The  Commander-in-Chief  hearing  of  the  dispute 
sent  for  Colonel  Crawley,  who  was  getting  ready  the  same  pistols 
"  which  he  shot  Captain  Marker,"  and  had  such  a  conversation  with 
him  that  no  duel  took  place.  If  Rebecca  had  not  gone  on  her  knees 
to  General  Tufto,  Crawley  would  have  been  sent  back  to  England ; 
and  he  did  not  play,  except  with  civilians,  for  some  weeks  after. 

But,  in  spite  of  Rawdon's  undoubted  skill  and  constant  successes, 
it  became  evident  to  Rebecca,  considering  these  things,  that  their 
position  was  but  a  precarious  one,  and  that,  even  although  they  paid 
scarcely  anybody,  their  little  capital  would  end  one  day  by  dwindling 
into  zero.  "  Gambling,"  slie  would  say,  "  dear,  is  good  to  help  your 
income,  but  not  as  an  income  itself.     Some  day  people  may  be  tired 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  351 

of  play,  and  then  where  are  we  1 "  Rawdon  acquiesced  in  the  justice 
of  her  opinion ;  and  in  truth  he  had  remarked  that  after  a  few  nights 
of  his  little  suppers,  &c.,  gentlemen  were  tired  of  play  with  him, 
and,  in  spite  of  Rebecca's  charms,  ^id  not  present  themselves  very 
eagerly. 

Easy  and  pleasant  as  their  life  at  Paris  was,  it  was  after  all  only 
an  idle  daUiance  and  amiable  trifling;  and  Rebecca  saw  that  she 
must  push  Rawdon's  fortune  in  their  own  country.  She  must  get 
him  a  place  or  appointment  at  home  or  in  the  colonies ;  and  she 
determined  to  make  a  move  upon  England  as  soon  as  the  way  could 
be  cleared  for  her.  As  a  first  step  she  had  made  Crawley  sell  out 
of  the  Guards,  and  go  on  half-pay.  His  function  as  aide-de-camp 
to  General  Tufto  had  ceased  previously.  Rebecca  laughed  in  all 
companies  at  that  officer,  at  his  toupee  (which  he  mounted  on  coming 
to  Paris),  at  his  waistband,  at  his  false  teeth,  at  his  pretensions  to 
be  a  lady-killer  above  all,  and  his  absurd  vanity  in  fancying  every 
woman  whom  he  came  near  was  in  love  with  him.  It  was  Mrs. 
Brent,  the  beetle-browed  wife  of  Mr.  Commissary  Brent,  to  whom 
the  General  transferred  his  attentions  now — his  bouquets,  his  dinners, 
at  the  restaurateurs',  his  opera-boxes,  and  his  nicknacks.  Poor 
Mrs.  Tufto  was  no  more  happy  than  before,  and  had  still  to  pass 
long  evenings  alone  with  her  daughters,  knowing  that  her  General 
was  gone  off"  scented  and  curled  to  stand  behind  Mrs.  Brent's  chair 
at  the  play.  Becky  had  a  dozen  admirers  in  his  place  to  be  sure ; 
and  could  cut  her  rival  to  pieces  with  her  wit.  But,  as  we  have 
said,  she  was  growing  tired  of  this  idle  social  life  :  opera-boxes  and 
restaurateur-dinners  palled  upon  her :  nosegays  could  not  be  laid  by 
as  a  provision  for  future  years  :  and  she  could  not  live  upon  nick- 
nacks,  laced  handkerchiefs,  and  kid  gloves.  She  felt  the  frivolity 
of  pleasure,  and  longed  for  more  substantial  benefits. 
"  "At  this  juncture  news  arrived  which  was  spread  among  the  many 
creditors  of  the  Colonel  at  Paris,  and  which  caused  them  great  satis- 
faction. Miss  Crawley,  the  rich  aunt  from  whom  he  expected  his 
immense  inheritance,  was  dying;  the  Colonel  must  haste  to  her 
bedside.  Mrs.  Crawley  and  her  child  would  remain  behind  until 
he  came  to  reclaim  them.  He  departed  for  Calais,  and  having 
reached  that  place  in  safety,  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  he 
went  to  Dover ;  but  instead  he  took  the  diligence  to  Dunkirk,  and 
thence  travelled  to  Brussels,  for  which  place  he  had  a  former  pre- 
dilection. The  fact  is,  he  owed  more  money  at  London  than  at 
Paris ;  and  he  preferred  the  quiet  little  Belgian  city  to  either  of  the 
more  noisy  capitals. 

Her  aunt  was  dead.     Mrs.  Crawley  ordered  the  most  intense 
mourning  for  herself  and  little  Rawdon.     The  Colonel  was  busy 


352  VANITY    FAIR 

arranging  the  affairs  of  the  inheritance.  They  could  take  the  premier 
now,  instead  of  the  little  entresol  of  the  hotel  which  they  occupied. 
Mrs.  Crawley  and  the  landlord  had  a  consultation  about  the  new 
hangings,  an  amicable  wrangle  about  the  carpets,  and  a  final  adjust- 
ment of  everything  except  the  bill.  She  went  off  in  one  of  his 
carriages ;  her  French  bonne  with  her ;  the  child  by  her  side ;  the 
admirable  landlord  and  landlady  smiling  farewell  to  her  from  the 
gate.  General  Tufto  was  furious  when  he  heard  she  was  gone,  and 
Mrs.  Brent  furious  with  him  for  being  furious ;  Lieutenant  Spooney 
was  cut  to  the  heart ;  and  the  landlord  got  ready  his  best  apart- 
ments previous  to  the  return  of  the  fascinating  little  woman  and  her 
husband.  He  served  the  trunks  which  she  left  in  his  charge  with 
the  greatest  care.  They  had  been  especially  recommended  to  him 
by  Madame  Crawley.  They  were  not,  however,  found  to  be  parti- 
cularly valuable  when  opened  some  time  after. 

But  before  she  went  to  join  her  husband  in  the  Belgic  cajntal, 
Mrs.  Crawley  made  an  expedition  into  England,  leaving  behind  her 
her  little  son  upon  the  Continent,  under  the  care  of  her  French 
maid. 

The  parting  between  Rebecca  and  the  little  Rawdon  did  not 
cause  either  party  much  pain.  She  had  not,  to  say  truth,  seen  much 
of  the  young  gentleman  since  his  birth.  After  the  amiable  fashion 
of  French  mothers,  she  had  placed  him  out  at  nurse  in  a  village  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Paris,  where  little  Rawdon  passed  the  first 
months  of  his  life,  not  unhappily,  with  a  numerous  family  of  foster- 
brothers  in  wooden  shoes.  His  father  would  ride  over  many  a  time 
to  see  him  here,  and  the  elder  Rawdon's  paternal  heart  glowed  to 
see  him  rosy  and  dirty,  shouting  lustily,  and  happy  in  the  making 
of  mud-pies  under  the  superintendence  of  the  gardener's  wife,  his 
^  nurse. 

Rebecca  did  not  care  much  to  go  and  see  the  son  and  heir. 
Once  he  spoiled  a  new  dove-coloured  pelisse  of  hers.  He  preferred 
his  nurse's  caresses  to  his  mamma's,  and  when  finally  he  quitted 
that  jolly  nurse  and  almost  parent,  he  cried  loudly  for  hours.  He 
was  only  consoled  by  his  mother's  promise  that  he  should  return  to 
his  nurse  the  next  day ;  indeed  the  nurse  herself,  who  probably 
would  have  been  pained  at  the  x>arting  too,  was  told  that  the  child 
would  immediately  be  restored  to  her,  and  for  some  time  awaited 
quite  anxiously  his  return. 

In  fact,  our  friends  may  be  said  to  have  been  among  the  fu-st  of 
that  brood  of  hardy  English  adventurers  who  have  subsequently 
invaded  the  Continent,  and  swindled  in  all  the  capitals  of  Europe. 
Tlie  respect  in  those  happy  days  of  1817-18  was  very  great  for  the 
wealth  and  honour  of  Britons.     They  had  not  then  learned,  as  I  am 


Mrs.  rawpon's  departure  frqm  parjs. 


<VJ, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  353 

told,  to  haggle  for  bargains  with  the  pertinacity  which  now  distin- 
guishes them.  The  great  cities  of  Europe  had  not  been  as  yet  open 
to  the  enterprise  of  our  rascals.  And  whereas  there  is  now  hardly 
a  town  of  France  or  Italy  in  whi^h  you  shall  not  see  some  noble 
countryman  of  our  own,  with  that  happy  swagger  and  insolence  of 
demeanoiu-  which  we  carry  everywhere,  swindling  inn-landlords, 
passing  fictitious  cheques  upon  credulous  bankers,  robbing  coach- 
makers  of  their  carriages,  goldsmiths  of  their  trinkets,  easy  travellers 
of  their  money  at  cards, — even  public  libraries  of  their  books  : — 
thirty  years  ago  you  needed  but  to  be  a  Milor  Anglais,  travelling  in  a 
private  carriage,  and  credit  was  at  your  hand  wherever  you  chose  to 
seek  it,  and  gentlemen,  instead  of  cheating,  were  cheated.  It  was 
not  for  some  weeks  after  the  Crawleys'  departure  that  the  landlord  of 
the  hotel  which  they  occupied  during  their  residence  at  Paris,  found 
out  the  losses  which  he  had  sustained ;  not  until  Madame  Marobou, 
the  milliner,  made  repeated  visits  with  her  little  bill  for  articles 
supplied  to  Madame  Crawley;  not  until  Monsieur  Didelot  from 
Boule  d'Or  in  the  Palais  Royal  had  asked  half-a-dozen  times  whether 
cette  charmante  Miladi  who  had  bought  watches  and  bracelets  of 
him  was  de  retour.  It  is  a  fact  that  even  the  poor  gardener's  wife^, 
who  had  nursed  Madame's  child,  was  never  paid  after  the  first  six 
months  for  that  supply  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  with  whieh 
•  she  had  furnished  the  lusty  and  healthy  little  Rawdon.  No,  not 
even  the  nurse  was  paid — the  Crawleys  were  in  too  great  a  hurry 
to  remember  their  trifling  debt  to  her.  As  for  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel,  his  curses  against  the  English  nation  were  violent  for  the  rest 
of  his  natural  life.  He  asked  all  travellers  whether  they  knew  a 
certain  Colonel  Lor  Crawley — avec  sa  femme — une  petite  dame, 
tr^s  spirituelle.  "  Ah^  Monsieur  !  "  he  would  add — "  Us  Wbont 
affreusement  voW*  It  was  melancholy  to  hear  his  accents  as  he 
spoke  of  that  catastrophe. 

Rebecca's  object  in  her  journey  to  London  was  to  effect  a  kind 
of  compromise  with  her  husband's  numerous  creditors,  and  by  offer- 
ing them  a  dividend  of  ninepence  or  a  shilling  in  the  pound,  to 
secure  a  return  for  him  into  his  own  country.  It  does  not  become 
us  to  trace  the  steps  which  she  took  in  the  conduct  of  this  most 
difficult  negotiation ;  but,  having  shown  them  to  their  satisfaction, 
that  the  sum  which  she  was  empowered  to  offer  was  all  her 
husband's  available  capital,  and  having  convinced  them  that  Colonel 
Crawley  would  prefer  a  perpetual  retirement  on  the  Continent  to  a 
residence  in  this  country  with  his  debts  unsettled;  having  proved 
to  them  that  there  was  no  possibihty  of  money  accruing  to  him 
I  from  other  quarters,  and  no  earthly  chance  of  their  getting  a  larger 
I      dividend  than  that  which  she  wa^  empowered  to  offer,  she  brought 

H 


354  VANITY    FAIR 

the  Colonel's  creditors  unanimously  to  accept  her  proposals,  and 
purchased  with  fifteen  hundred  pounds  of  ready  money,  more  than 
ten  times  that  amount  of  debts. 

Mrs.  Crawley  employed  no  lawyer  in  the  transaction.  The  mattei 
was  so  simple,  to  have  or  to  leave,  as  she  justly  observed,  that  she 
made  the  lawyers  of  the  creditors  themselves  do  the  business.  And 
Mr.  Lewis  representing  Mr.  Davids,  of  Red  Lion  Square,  and  Mr. 
Moss  acting  for  Mr.  Manasseh,  of  Cursitor  Street  (chief  creditors  of 
the  Colonel's),  complimented  his  lady  upon  the  brilliant  way  in 
which  she  did  business,  and  declared  that  there  was  no  professional 
man  who  could  beat  her. 

Rebecca  received  their  congratulations  with  perfect  modesty; 
ordered  a  bottle  of  sherry  and  a  bread  cake  to  the  little  dingy 
lodgings  where  she  dwelt,  while  conducting  the  business,  to  treat 
the  enemy's  lawyers  :  shook  hands  with  them  at  parting,  in  excellent 
good-humour,  and  returned  straightway  to  the  Continent,  to  rejoin 
her  husband  and  son,  and  acquaint  the  former  with  the  glad  news  of 
his  entire  liberation.  As  for  the  latter,  he  had  been  considerably 
neglected  during  his  mother's  absence  by  Mademoiselle  Genevieve, 
her  French  maid  ;  for  that  young  woman,  contracting  an  attachment 
for  a  soldier  in  the  garrison  of  Calais,  forgot  her  charge  in  the  society 
of  this  militaire^  and  little  Rawdon  very  narrowly  escaped  drowning 
on  Calais  sands  at  this  period,  where  the  absent  Genevieve  had  left 
and  lost  him. 

And  so,  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Crawley  came  to  London  :  and  it  is 
at  their  house  in  Curzon  Street,  May  Fair,  that  they  really  showed 
the  skill  which  must  be  possessed  by  those  who  would  live  on  the 
resources  above  named. 


J" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE   SUBJECT   CONTINUED 

IN  the  first  place,  and  as  a  matter  of  the  greatest  necessity,  we  are 
bound  to  describe  how  a  house  may  be  got  for  nothing  a  year. 
These  mansions  are  to  be  had  either  unfurnished,  where,  if  you 
have  credit  with  Messrs.  Gillows  or  Bantings,  you  can  get  them 
splendidly  montees  and  decorated  entirely  according  to  your  own 
fancy ;  or  they  are  to  be  let  furnished ;  a  less  troublesome  and  com- 
plicated arrangement  to  most  parties.  It  was  so  that  Crawley  and 
his  wife  preferred  to  hire  their  house. 

'  Before  Mr.  Bowls  came  to  preside  over  Miss  Crawley's  house 
--and  cellar  in  Park  Lane,  that  lady  had  had  for  a  butler  a  Mr. 
i  Haggles,  who  was  born  on  the  family  estate  of  Queen's  Crawley, 
^^^tnd  indeed  was  a  younger  son  of  a  gardener  there.  By  good 
conduct,  a  handsome  person  and  calves,  and  a  grave  demeanour, 
Haggles  rose  from  the  knife-board  to  the  foot-board  of  the  carriage ; 
from  the  foot-board  to  the  butler's  pantry.  When  he  had  been  a 
certain  number  of  yeai-s  at  the  head  of  Miss  Crawley's  establish- 
ment, where  he  had  had  good  wages,  fat  perquisites,  and  plenty  of 
opportunities  of  saving,  he  announced  that  he  was  about  to  con- 
tract a  matrimonial  alliance  with  a  late  cook  of  Miss  Crawley's, 
who  had  subsisted  in  an  honourable  manner  by  the  exercise  of  a 
mangle,  and  the  keeping  of  a  small  greengrocer's  shop  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. The  truth  is,  that  the  ceremony  had  been  clandestinely 
performed  some  years  back;  although  the  news  of  Mr.  Raggles' 
marriage  was  first  brought  to  Miss  Crawley  by  a  little  boy  and  gii'l 
of  seven  and  eight  years  of  age,  whose  continual  presence  in  the 
kitchen  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Miss  Briggs. 

Mr.  Raggles  then  retired  and  personally  undertook  the  superin- 
tendence of  the  small  shop  and  the  greens.  He  added  milk  and 
cream,  eggs  and  country-fed  pork  to  his  stores,  contenting  himself, 
whilst  other  retired  butlers  were  vending  spirits  in  public-houses,  by 
dealing  in  the  simplest  country  produce.  And  having  a  good  con- 
nection amongst  the  butlers  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  a  snug  back 
parlour  where  he  and  Mrs.  Raggles  received  tliem,  his  milk,  cream, 
and  eggs  got  to  be  adopted  by  many  of  the  fraternity,  and  his  profits 


3s6  VANITY    FAIR 

increased  every  year.  Year  after  year  he  quietly  and  modestly 
amassed  money,  and  when  at  length  that  snug  and  complete  bache- 
lor's residence  at  No.  201  Curzon  Street,  May  Fair,  lately  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Honourable  Frederick  Deuceace,  gone  abroad,  with  its 
rich  and  appropriate  furniture  by  the  first  makers,  was  brought  to 
the  hammer,  who  should  go  in  and  purchase  the  lease  and  furniture 
of  the  house  but  Charles  Raggles "?  A  part  of  the  money  he  bor- 
rowed, it  is  true,  and  at  rather  a  high  interest,  from  a  brother 
butler,  but  the  chief  part  he  paid  down,  and  it  was  with  no  small 
pride  that  Mrs.  Raggles  found  herself  sleeping  in  a  bed  of  carved 
mahogany,  with  silk  curtains,  with  a  prodigious  cheval  glass  opposite 
to  her,  and  a  wardrobe  which  would  contain  her,  and  Raggles,  and 
all  the  family. 

Of  course  they  did  not  intend  to  occupy  permanently  an  apart- 
ment so  splendid.  It  was  in  order  to  let  the  house  again  that 
Raggles  purchased  it.  As  soon  as  a  tenant  was  found,  he  subsided 
into  the  greengrocer's  shop  once  more ;  but  a  happy  thing  it  was 
for  him  to  walk  out  of  that  tenement  and  into  Curzon  Street,  and 
here  survey  his  house — his  own  house — with  geraniums  in  the 
window  and  a  carved  bronze  knocker.  The  footman  occasionally 
lounging  at  the  area  railing,  treated  him  with  respect;  the  cook 
took  her  green  stuff  at  his  house,  and  called  him  Mr.  Landlord  ;  and 
there  was  not  one  thing  the  tenants  did,  or  one  dish  which  they  had 
for  dinner,  that  Raggles  might  not  know  of,  if  he  liked. 

He  was  a  good  man ;  good  and  happy.  The  house  brought  him 
in  so  handsome  a  yearly  income,  that  he  was  determined  to  send  his 
children  to  good  schools,  and  accordingly,  regardless  of  expense, 
Charles  was  sent  to  boarding  at  Dr.  SwishtaiFs,  Sugar-cane  Lodge, 
and  little  Matilda  to  Miss  Peckover's,  Laurentinum  House,  Clapham. 

Raggles  loved  and  adored  the  Crawley  family  as  the  author  of 
all  his  prosperity  in  life.  He  had  a  silhouette  of  his  mistress  in  his 
back  shop,  and  a  drawing  of  the  Porter's  Lodge  at  Queen's  Crawley, 
done  by  that  spinster  herself  in  India  ink — and  the  only  addition 
he  made  to  the  decorations  of  the  Curzon  Street  house  was  a  print 
of  Queen's  Crawley  in  Hampshire,  the  seat  of  Sir  Walpole  Crawley, 
Baronet,  who  was  represented  in  a  gilded  car  drawn  by  six  white 
horses,  and  passing  by  a  lake  covered  with  swans,  and  barges  con- 
taining ladies  in  hoops,  and  musicians  with  flags  and  periwigs. 
Indeed  Raggles  thought  there  was  no  such  palace  in  all  the  world, 
and  no  such  august  family. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Raggles'  house  in  Curzon  Street  was  to 
let  when  Rawdon  and  his  wife  returned  to  London.  The  Colonel 
knew  it  and  its  owner  quite  well ;  the  latter's  connection  with  the 
Crawley  family  had  been  kept  up  constantly,  for  Raggles  helped  Mr. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  357 

Bowls  whenever  Miss  Crawley  received  friends.  And  the  old  man 
not  only  let  his  house  to  the  Colonel,  but  officiated  as  his  butler 
whenever  he  had  company ;  Mrs.  Raggles  operating  in  the  kitchen 
below,  and  sending  up  dinners  of  which  old  Miss  Crawley  herself  might 
have  approved.  This  was  the  way,  then,  Crawley  got  his  house 
for  nothing;  for  though  Raggles  had  to  pay  taxes  and  rates,  and 
the  interest  of  the  mortgage  to  the  brother  butler ;  and  the  insurance 
of  his  life ;  and  the  charges  for  his  children  at  school ;  and  the 
value  of  the  meat  and  drink  which  his  own  family — and  for  a  time 
that  of  Colonel  Crawley  too — consumed;  and  though  the  poor 
wretch  was  utterly  ruined  by  the  transaction,  his  children  being 
flung  on  the  streets,  and  himself  driven  into  the  Fleet  Prison : 
yet  somebody  must  pay  even  for  gentlemen  who  live  for  nothing 
a  year — and  so  it  was  this  unlucky  Raggles  was  made  the  repre- 
sentative of  Colonel  Crawley's  defective  capital. 

I  wonder  how  many  families  are  driven  to  roguery  and  to  ruin 
by>great  practitioners  in  Crawley's  way? — how  many  great  noble- 
men rob  their  pc;tty  tradesmen,  condescend  to  swindle  their  poor 
retainers  out  of  wretched  little  sums,  and  cheat  for  a  few  shillings  1 
When  we  read  that  a  noble  nobleman  has  left  for  the  Continent,  or 
that  another  noble  nobleman  has  an  execution  in  his  house — and 
that  one  or  other  owes  six  or  seven  millions,  the  defeat  seems  glorious 
even,  and  we  respect  the  victim  in  the  vastness  of  his  ruin.  But 
who  pities  a  poor  barber  who  can't  get  his  money  for  powdering  the 
footmen's  heads;  or  a  poor  carpenter  who  has  ruined  himself  by 
fixing  up  ornaments  and  pavilions  for  my  lady's  dejeuner ;  or  the 
poor  devil  of  a  tailor  whom  the  steward  patronises,  and  who  has 
pledged  all  he  is  worth,  and  more,  to  get  the  liveries  ready,  which 
my  lord  has  done  him  the  honour  to  bespeak? — When  the  great 
house  tumbles  down,  these  miserable  wretches  fall  under  it  un- 
noticed :  as  they  say  in  the  old  legends,  before  a  man  goes  to  the 
devil  himself,  he  sends  plenty  of  other  souls  thither. 

Rawdon  and  his  wife  generously  gave  their  patronage  to  all  such 
of  Miss  Crawley's  tradesmen  and  purveyors  as  chose  to  serve  them. 
Some  were  willing  enough,  especially  the  poor  ones.  It  was  wonder- 
ful to  see  the  pertinacity  with  which  the  washerwoman  from  Tooting 
brought  the  cart  every  Saturday,  and  her  bills  week  after  week. 
Mr.  Raggles  himself  had  to  supply  the  greengroceries.  The  bill  for 
servants'  porter  at  the  Fortune  of  War  public-house  is  a  curiosity  in 
the  chronicles  of  beer.  Every  servant  also  was  owed  the  greater 
part  of  his  wages,  and  thus  kept  up  perforce  an  interest  in  the 
house.  Nobody  in  fact  was  paid.  Not  the  blacksmith  who  opened 
the  lock;  nor  the  glazier  who  mended  the  pane;  nor  the  jobber 
who  let  the  carriage ;  nor  the  gi'oom  who  drove  it ;  nor  the  butcher 


358  VANITY    FAIR 

who  provided  the  leg  of  mutton ;  nor  the  coals  which  roasted  it ; 
nor  the  cook  who  basted  it ;  nor  the  servants  who  ate  it :  and  this 
I  am  given  to  understand  is  not  unfrequently  the  way  in  which 
people  live  elegantly  on  nothing  a  year. 

In  a  little  town  such  things  cannot  be  done  without  remark. 
We  know  there  the  quantity  of  milk  our  neighbour  takes,  and  espy 
the  joint  or  the  fowls  which  are  going  in  for  his  dinner.  So,  pro- 
bably, 200  and  202  in  Curzon  Street  might  know  what  was  going 
on  in  the  house  between  them,  the  servants  communicating  througli 
the  area-railings ;  but  Crawley  and  his  wife  and  his  friends  did  not 
know  200  and  202.  When  you  came  to  201  there  was  a  hearty 
welcome,  a  kind  smile,  a  good  dinner,  and  a  jolly  shake  of  the  hand 
from  the  host  and  hostess  there,  just  for  all  the  world  as  if  they  had 
been  imdisputed  masters  of  three  or  four  thousand  a  year — and  so 
they  were,  not  in  money,  but  in  produce  and  labour — if  they  did 
not  pay  for  the  mutton,  they  had  it :  if  they  did  not  give  bullion  in 
exchange  for  their  wine,  how  should  we  know?  Never  was  better 
claret  at  any  man's  table  than  at  honest  Rawdon's ;  dinners  more 
gay  and  neatly  served.  His  drawing-rooms  were  the  prettiest  little 
modest  salons  conceivable :  they  were  decorated  with  the  greatest 
taste,  and  a  thousand  nicknacks  from  Paris,  by  Rebecca :  and 
when  she  sate  at  her  piano  trilling  songs  with  a  lightsome  heart, 
the  stranger  voted  himself  in  a  little  paradise  of  domestic  comfort, 
and  agreed  that,  if  the  husband  was  rather  stupid,  the  wife  was 
charming,  and  the  dinners  the  pleasantest  in  the  world. 

Rebecca's  wit,  cleverness,  and  flippancy  made  her  speedily  the 
vogue  in  London  among  a  certain  class.  You  saw  demure  chariots 
at  her  door,  out  of  which  stepped  very  great  people.  You  beheld 
her  carriage  in  the  Park,  surrounded  by  dandies  of  note.  The  little 
box  in  the  third  tier  of  the  Opera  was  crowded  with  heads  constantly 
changing ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  ladies  held  aloof  from 
her,  and  that  their  doors  were  shut  to  our  little  adventurer. 

With  regard  to  the  world  of  female  fashion  and  its  customs,  the 
present  writer  of  course  can  only  speak  at  second  hand.  A  man 
can  no  more  penetrate  or  understand  those  mysteries  than  he  can 
know  what  the  ladies  talk  about  when  they  go  upstairs  after 
dinner.  It  is  only  by  inquiry  and  perseverance  that  one  sometimes 
gets  hints  of  those  secrets ;  and  by  a  similar  diligence  every  person 
who  treads  the  Pall  Mall  pavement  and  frequents  the  clubs  of  this 
metropolis,  knows,  either  through  his  own  experience  or  through 
some  acquaintance  with  whom  he  plays  at  billiards  or  shares  the 
joint,  something  about  the  genteel  world  of  London,  and  how,  as 
there  are  men  (such  as  Rawdon  Crawley,  whose  position  we 
mentioned  before),  who  cut  a  good  figure  to  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  359 

world  and  to  the  apprentices  in  the  Park,  who  behold  them  consort- 
ing with  the  most  notorious  dandies  there,  so  there  are  ladies,  who 
may  be  called  men's  women,  being  welcomed  entirely  by  all  the 
gentlemen,  and  cut  or  slighted  by  dl  their  wives.  Mrs.  Firebrace 
is  of  this  sort ;  the  lady  with  the  beautiful  fair  ringlets  whom  you 
see  every  day  in  Hyde  Park,  surrounded  by  the  greatest  and  most 
famous  dandies  of  this  empire.  Mrs.  Rockwood  is  another,  whose 
parties  are  announced  laboriously  in  the  fashionable  newspapers, 
and  with  whom  you  see  that  all  sorts  of  ambassadors  and  great 
noblemen  dine ;  and  many  more  might  be  mentioned  had  they  to  do 
with  the  history  at  present  in  hand.  But  while  simple  folks  who 
are  out  of  the  world,  or  country  people  with  a  taste  for  the  genteel, 
behold  these  ladies  in  their  seeming  glory  in  public  places,  or  envy 
them  from  afar  off,  persons  who  are  better  instructed  could  inform 
them  that  these  envied  ladies  have  no  more  chance  of  establish- 
ing themselves  in  "Society,"  than  the  benighted  squire's  wife  in 
Somersetshire,  who  reads  of  their  doings  in  the  Morning  Post. 
Men  living  about  London  are  aware  of  these  awful  truths.  You 
hear  how  pitilessly  many  ladies  of  seeming  rank  and  wealth  are 
excluded  from  this  "  Society."  The  frantic  efforts  which  they  make 
to  enter  this  circle,  the  meannesses  to  which  they  submit,  the  insults 
which  they  undergo,  are  matters  of  wonder  to  those  who  take  human 
or  womankind  for  a  study ;  and  the  pursuit  of  fashion  under  diffi- 
culties would  be  a  fine  theme  for  any  very  great  person  who  had 
the  wit,  the  leisure,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  English  language 
necessary  for  the  compiling  of  such  a  history. 

Now  the  few  female  acquaintances  whom  Mrs.  Crawley  had 
known  abroad,  not  only  declined  to  visit  her  when  she  came  to  this 
side  of  the  Channel,  but  cut  her  severely  when  they  met  in  public 
places.  It  was  curious  to  see  how  the  gi-eat  ladies  forgot  her,  and 
no  doubt  not  altogether  a  pleasant  study  to  Rebecca.  When  Lady 
Bareacres  met  her  in  the  waiting-room  at  the  Opera,  she  gathered 
her  daughters  about  her  as  if  they  would  be  contaminated  by  a  touch 
of  Becky,  and  retreating  a  step  or  two,  placed  herself  in  front  of 
them,  and  stared  at  her  little  enemy.  To  stare  Becky  out  of  coun- 
tenance required  a  severer  glance  than  even  the  frigid  old  Bareacres 
could  shoot  out  of  her  dismal  eyes.  When  Lady  de  la  Mole,  who 
had  ridden  a  score  of  times  by  Becky's  side  at  Brussels,  met  Mrs. 
Crawley's  open  carriage  in  Hyde  Park,  her  Ladyship  was  quite  bhnd, 
and  could  not  in  the  least  recognise  her  former  friend.  Even  Mrs. 
Blenkinsop,  the  banker's  wife,  cut  her  at  church.  Becky  went  regu- 
larly to  church  now;  it  was  edifying  to  see  her  enter  there  with 
Rawdon  by  her  side,  carrying  a  couple  of  large  gilt  prayer-books,  and 
afterwards  going  through  the  ceremony  with  the  gravest  resignation. 


360  VANITY    FAIR 

Rawdon  at  first  felt  very  acutely  the  slights  which  were  passed 
upon  his  wife,  and  was  inclined  to  be  gloomy  and  savage.  He  talked 
of  calling  out  the  husbands  or  brothers  of  every  one  of  the  insolent 
women  who  did  not  pay  a  proper  respect  to  his  wife ;  and  it  was 
only  by  the  strongest  commands  and  entreaties  on  her  part,  that  he 
was  brought  into  keeping  a  decent  behaviour.  "  You  can't  shoot 
me  into  society,"  she  said  good-naturedly.  "  Remember,  my  dear, 
that  I  was  but  a  governess,  and  you,  you  poor  silly  old  man,  have 
r  the  worst  reputation  for  debt,  and  dice,  and  all  sorts  of  wickedness. 
I  We  shall  get  quite  as  many  friends  as  we  want  by-and-by,  and  in 
\  the  meanwhile  you  must  be  a  good  boy,  and  obey  your  schoolmistress 
\  in  everything  she  tells  you  to  do.  When  we  heard  that  your  aunt 
\  had  left  almost  everything  to  Pitt  and  his  wife,  do  you  remember 
what  a  rage  you  were  in  %  You  would  have  told  all  Paris,  if  I  had 
not  made  you  keep  your  temper,  and  where  would  you  have  been 
nowl — in  prison  at  Ste.  P^lagie  for  debt,  and  not  established  in 
London  in  a  handsome  house,  with  every  comfort  about  you— you 
were  in  such  a  fury  you  were  ready  to  murder  your  brother,  you 
wicked  Cain  you,  and  what  good  would  have  come  of  remaining 
angry  %  All  the  rage  in  the  world  won't  get  us  your  aunt's  money ; 
and  it  is  much  better  that  we  should  be  friends  with  your  brother's 
family  than  enemies,  as  those  foolish  Butes  are.  When  your  father 
dies.  Queen's  Crawley  will  be  a  pleasant  house  for  you  and  me  to 
(  pass  the  winter  in.  If  we  are  ruined,  you  can  carve  and  take  charge 
of  the  stable,  and  I  can  be  a  governess  to  Lady  Jane's  children. 
Ruined  !  fiddlededee !  I  will  get  you  a  good  place  before  that ;  or 
Pitt  and  his  little  boy  will  die,  and  we  will  be  Sir  Rawdon  and  my 
lady.  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope,  my  dear,  and  I  intend  to 
make  a  man  of  you  yet.  Who  sold  your  horses  for  you?  Who 
paid  your  debts  for  youT'  Rawdon  was  obliged  to  confess  that 
he  owed  all  these  benefits  to  his  wife,  and  to  trust  himself  to  her 
guidance  for  the  future. 

Indeed,  when  Miss  Crawley  quitted  the  world,  and  that  money 
for  which  all  her  relatives  had  been  fighting  so  eagerly  wjis  finally 
left  to  Pitt,  Bute  Crawley,  who  found  that  only  five  thousand 
pounds  had  been  left  to  him  instead  of  the  twenty  upon  which  he 
calculated,  was  in  such  a  fury  at  his  disappointment,  that  he  vented 
it  in  savage  abuse  upon  his  nephew ;  and  the  quarrel  always  rankling 
between  them  ended  in  an  utter  breach  of  intercourse.  Rawdon 
Crawley's  conduct,  on  the  other  hand,  who  got  but  a  hundred  pounds, 
was  such  as  to  astonish  his  brother  and  delight  his  sister-in-law,  who 
was  disposed  to  look  kindly  upon  all  the  members  of  her  husband's 
family.  He  wrote  to  his  brother  a  very  frank,  manly,  good-humoured 
letter  from  Paris.     He  was  aware,  he  said,  that  by  his  own  marriage 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  361 

he  had  forfeited  his  aunt's  favour ;  and  though  he  did  not  disguise 
his  disappointment  that  she  should  have  been  so  entirely  relentless 
towards  him,  he  was  glad  that  the  money  was  still  kept  in  their 
branch  of  the  family,  and  heartily  <^ongratulated  his  brother  on  his 
good  fortune.  He  sent  his  affectionate  remembrances  to  his  sister, 
and  hoped  to  have  her  good-will  for  Mrs.  Rawdon ;  and  the  letter 
concluded  with  a  postscript  to  Pitt  in  the  latter  lady's  own  hand- 
writing. She,  too,  begged  to  join  in  her  husband's  congratulations. 
She  should  ever  remember  Mr.  Crawley's  kindness  to  her  in  early 
days  when  she  was  a  friendless  orphan,  the  instructress  of  his  little 
sisters,  in  whose  welfare  she  still  took  the  tenderest  interest.  She 
wished  him  every  happiness  in  his  married  life,  and,  asking  his  per- 
mission to  oft'er  her.  remembrances  to  Lady  Jane  (of  whose  goodness 
all  the  world  informed  her),  she  hoped  that  one  day  she  might  be 
allowed  to  present  her  little  boy  to  his  uncle  and  aunt,  and  begged 
to  bespeak  for  him  their  good-will  and  protection. 

Pitt  Crawley  received  this  communication  very  graciously — 
more  graciously  than  Miss  Crawley  had  received  some  of  Rebecca's 
previous  compositions  in  Rawdon's  handwriting  ;  and  as  for  Lady 
Jane,  she  was  so  charmed  with  the  letter,  that  she  expected  her 
husband  would  instantly  divide  his  aunt's  legacy  into  two  equal 
portions,  and  send  off  one-half  to  his  brother  at  Paris. 

To  her  Ladyship's  surprise,  however,  Pitt  declined  to  accommo- 
date his  brother  with  a  cheque  for  thirty  thousand  pounds.  But  he 
made  Rawdon  a  handsome  oft'er  of  his  hand  whenever  the  latter 
should  come  to  England  and  choose  to  take  it ;  and,  thanking  Mrs. 
Crawley  for  her  good  opinion  of  himself  and  Lady  Jane,  he  graciously 
pronounced  his  willingness  to  take  any  opportunity  to  serve  her 
little  boy. 

Thus  an  almost  reconciliation  was  brought  about  between  the 
brothers.  When  Rebecca  came  to  town  Pitt  and  his  wife  were  not 
in  London.  Many  a  time  she  drove  by  the  old  door  in  Park  Lane 
to  see  whether  they  had  taken  possession  of  Miss  Crawley's  house 
there.  But  the  new  family  did  not  make  its  appearance ;  it  was 
only  through  Raggles  that  she  heard  of  their  movements — how  Miss 
Crawley's  domestics  had  been  dismissed  with  decent  gi-atuities,  and 
how  Mr.  Pitt  had  only  once  made  his  appearance  in  London,  when 
he  stopped  for  a  few  days  at  the  house,  did  business  with  his  lawyers 
there,  and  sold  off  all  Miss  Crawley's  French  novels  to  a  bookseller 
out  of  Bond  Street.  Becky  had  reasons  of  her  own  which  caused 
her  to  long  for  the  arrival  of  her  new  relation.  "  When  Lady  Jane 
comes,"  thought  she,  "  she  shall  be  my  sponsor  in  London  society : 
and  as  for  tlie  women  !  bah  !  the  women  will  ask  me  when  they  find 
the  men  want  to  see  me." 


^62  VANITY    FAIR 

An  article  as  necessary  to  a  lady  in  this  position  as  her  brougham 
or  her  bouquet,  is  her  companion,  I  have  always  admired  the  way 
in  which  the  tender  creatures,  who  cannot  exist  without  sympathy, 
hire  an  exceedingly  plain  friend  of  their  own  sex  from  whom  they 
/  are  almost  inseparable.  The  sight  of  that  inevitable  woman  in  her 
/  faded  gown  seated  behind  her  dear  friend  in  the  opera-box,  or  occupy- 
I  ing  the  back  seat  of  the  barouche,  is  always  a  wholesome  and  moral 
'  one  to  me,  as  jolly  a  reminder  as  that  of  the  Death's-head  which 
figured  in  the  repasts  of  Egyptian  bons  vivants,  a  strange  sardonic 
memorial  of  Vanity  Fair.  What  1 — even  battered,  brazen,  beautiful, 
conscienceless,  heartless  Mrs.  Firebrace,  whose  father  died  of  her 
shame;  even  lovely,  daring  Mrs.  Mantrap,  who  will  ride  at  any 
fence  which  any  man  in  England  will  take,  and  who  drives  her  greys 
in  the  Park,  while  her  mother  keeps  a  huckster's  stall  in  Bath  still ; 
— even  those  who  are  so  bold,  one  might  fancy  they  could  face  any- 
thing, dare  not  face  the  world  without  a  female  friend,  "They  must 
have  somebody  to  cling  to,  the  affectionate  creatures !  And  you 
/  will  hardly  see  them  in  any  public  place  without  a  shabby  com- 
I  panion  in  a  dyed  silk,  sitting  somewhere  in  the  shade  close  behind 
\  them. 

"  Rawdon,"  said  Becky,  very  late  one  night,  as  a  party  of  gentle- 
men were  seated  round  her  crackling  drawing-room  fire  (for  the  men 
came  to  her  house  to  finish  the  night ;  and  she  had  ice  and  coflfee 
for  them,  the  best  in  London) :  "I  must  have  a  sheep-dog." 

"  A  what  1 "  said  Rawdon,  looking  up  from  an  ecart^  table. 

"  A  sheep-dog  !  "  said  young  Lord  Southdown.  "  My  dear  Mrs. 
Crawley,  what  a  fancy  !  Why  not  have  a  Danish  dog  1  I  know  of 
one  as  big  as  a  camel-leopard,  by  Jove.  It  would  almost  pull  your 
brougham.  Or  a  Persian  greyhound,  eh  ?  (I  propose,  if  you  please) ; 
or  a  little  pug  that  would  go  into  one  of  Lord  Steyne's  snuff-boxes  1 
There's  a  man  at  Bayswater  got  one  with  such  a  nose  that  you 
might, — I  mark  the  king  and  play, — that  you  might  hang  your 
hat  on  it." 

"  I  mark  the  trick,"  Eawdon  gravely  said.  He  attended  to  his 
game  commonly,  and  didn't  much  meddle  with  the  conversation, 
except  when  it  was  about  horses  and  betting. 

"What  can  you  want  with  a  shepherd's  dog?"  the  lively  little 
Southdown  continued. 

"  I  mean  a  moral  shepherd's  dog,"  said  Becky,  laughing,  and 
looking  up  at  Lord  Steyne. 

"  What  the  devil's  that  1 "  said  his  Lordship. 

"A  dog  to  keep  the  wolves  off  me,"  Rebecca  continued.  "A 
companion." 

"  Dear  little  innocent  lamb,  you  want  one,"  said  the  Marquis ; 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  363 

and  his  jaw  thrust  out,  he  began  to  grin  hideously,  his  little  eyes 
leering  towards  Rebecca. 

The  great  Lord  of  Steyne  was  standing  by  the  fire  sipping  coffee. 
The  fire  crackled  and  blazed  pleasantly.  There  was  a  score  of  candles 
sparkling  round  the  mantelpiece,  in  all  sorts  of  quaint  sconces,  of 
gilt  and  bronze  and  porcelain.  They  lighted  up  Rebecca's  figure  to 
admiration,  as  she  sate  on  a  sofa  covered  with  a  pattern  of  gaudy 
flowers.  She  was  in  a  pink  dress,  that  looked  as  fresh  as  a  rose ; 
her  dazzling  white  arms  and  shoulders  were  half  covered  with  a  thin 
hazy  scarf  through  which  they  sparkled;  her  hair  hung  in  curls 
round  her  neck;  one  of  her  little  feet  peeped  out  from  the  fresh 
crisp  folds  of  the  silk  :  the  prettiest  little  foot  in  the  prettiest  little 
sandal  in  the  finest  silk  stocking  in  the  world. 

The  candles  lighted  up  Lord  Steyne's  shining  bald  head,  which 
was  fringed  with  red  hair.  He  had  thick  bushy  eyebrows,  with 
little  twinkling  bloodshot  eyes,  surrounded  by  a  thousand  wrinkles. 
His  jaw  was  underhung,  and  when  he  laughed,  two  white  buck-teeth 
protruded  themselves  and  glistened  savagely  in  the  midst  of  the  grin. 
He  had  been  dining  with  royal  personages,  and  wore  his  garter  and 
ribbon.  A  short  man  was  his  Lordship,  broad-chested,  and  bow- 
legged,  but  proud  of  the  fineness  of  his  foot  and  ankle,  and  always 
caressing  his  garter-knee. 

"  And  so  the  Shepherd  is  not  enough,"  said  he,  "  to  defend  his 
lambkin?" 

"  The  Shepherd  is  too  fond  of  playing  at  cards  and  going  to  his 
clubs,"  answered  Becky,  laughing. 

"  'Gad,  what  a  debauched  Corydon  !  "  said  my  Lord — "  what  a 
mouth  for  a  pipe  ! " 

"  I  take  your  three  to  two,"  here  said  Rawdon  at  the  card- 
table. 

"Hark  at  Meliboeus,"  snarled  the  noble  Marquis;  "he's  pasto- 
rally  occupied  too  :  he's  shearing  a  Southdown.  What  an  innocent 
mutton,  hey  1     Damme,  what  a  snowy  fleece  ! " 

Rebecca's  eyes  shot  out  gleams  of  scornful  humour.  "My 
Lord,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  knight  of  the  Order."  He  had  the 
collar  round  his  neck,  indeed — a  gift  of  the  restored  Princes  of 
Spain. 

Lord  Steyne  in  early  life  had  been  notorious  for  his  daring  and 
his  success  at  play.  He  had  sat  up  two  days  and  two  nights  with 
Mr.  Fox  at  hazard.  He  had  won  money  of  the  most  august  per- 
sonages of  the  realm :  he  had  won  his  marquisate,  it  was  said,  at 
the  gaming  table ;  but  he  did  not  like  an  allusion  to  those  bygone 
fredaines.     Rebecca  saw  the  scowl  gathering  over  his  heavy  brow. 

She  rose  up  from  her  sofa,  and  went  and  took  his  cofiee  cup 


364  VANITY    FAIR 

out  of  his  hand  with  a  little  curtsey.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  *'  I  must 
get  a  watchdog.  But  he  won't  bark  at  you.''  And,  going  into  the 
other  drawing-room,  she  sate  down  to  the  piano,  and  began  to  sing 
little  French  songs  in  such  a  charming,  thrilling  voice,  that  the 
mollified  nobleman  speedily  followed  her  into  that  chamber,  and 
might  be  seen  nodding  his  head  and  bowing  time  over  her. 

Rawdon  and  his  friend  meanwhile  played  ecarte  until  they  had 
enough.  The  Colonel  won  ;  but, 'say  that  he  won  ever  so  much  and 
often,  nights  like  these,  which  occurred  many  times  in  the  week — 
his  wife  having  all  the  talk  and  all  the  admiration,  and  he  sitting 
silent  without  the  circle,  not  comprehending  a  word  of  the  jokes, 
the  allusions,  the  mystical  language  within — must  have  been  rather 
wearisome  to  the  ex-dragoon. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Crawley's  husband  1 "  Lord  Steyne  used  to  say  to 
him  by  way  of  a  good-day  when  they  met :  and  indeed  that  was 
now  his  avocation  in  life.  He  was  Colonel  Crawley  no  more.  He 
was  Mrs.  Crawley's  husband. 

About  the  little  Rawdon,  if  nothing  has  been  said  all  this  while, 
it  is  because  he  is  hidden  upstairs  in  a  garret  somewhere,  or  has 
crawled  below  into  the  kitchen  for  companionship.  His  mother 
scarcely  ever  took  notice  of  him.  He  passed  the  days  with  his 
French  bonne  as  long  as  that  domestic  remained  in  Mr.  Crawley's 
family,  and  when  the  Frenchwoman  went  away,  the  little  fellow, 
howling  in  the  loneliness  of  the  night,  had  compassion  taken  on 
him  by  a  housemaid,  who  took  him  out  of  his  solitary  nursery  into 
her  bed  in  the  garret  hard  by,  and  comforted  him. 

Rebecca,  my  Lord  Steyne,  and  one  or  two  more  were  in  the 
drawing-room  taking  tea  after  the  Opera,  when  this  shouting  was 
heard  overhead.  "  It's  my  cherub  crying  for  his  nurse,"  she  said. 
She  did  not  offer  to  move  to  go  and  see  the  child.  "  Don't  agitate 
your  feelings  by  going  to  look  for  him,"  said  Lord  Steyne  sardoni- 
cally. "  Bah ! "  replied  the  other,  with  a  sort  of  blush,  "  he'll  cry 
himself  to  sleep ; "  and  they  fell  to  talking  about  the  Opera. 

Rawdon  had  stolen  off  though,  to  look  after  his  son  and  heir ; 
and  came  back  to  the  company  when  he  found  that  honest  Dolly 
was  consoling  the  child.  The  Colonel's  dressing-room  was  in  those 
upper  regions.  He  used  to  see  the  boy  there  in  private.  They 
had  interviews  together  every  morning  when  he  shaved ;  Rawdon 
minor  sitting  on  a  box  by  his  father's  side,  and  watching  the  opera- 
tion with  never-ceasing  pleasure.  He  and  the  sire  were  great 
friends.  The  father  would  bring  him  sweetmeats  from  the  dessert, 
and  hide  them  in  a  certain  old  epaulet  box,  where  the  child  went 
to  seek  them,  and  laughed  with  joy  on  discovering  the  treasure; 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  365 

laughed,  but  not  too  loud :  for  mamma  was  below  asleep  and  must 
not  be  disturbed.  She  did  not  go  to  rest  till  very  late,  and  seldom* 
rose  till  after  noon. 

Rawdon  bought  the  boy  plent^of  picture-books,  and  crammed 
his  nursery  with  toys.  Its  walls  were  covered  with  pictures  pasted 
up  by  the  father's  own  hand,  and  purchased  by  him  for  ready 
money.  When  he  was  off  duty  with  Mrs.  Rawdon  in  the  Park, 
he  would  sit  up  here,  passing  hours  with  the  boy ;  who  rode  on  his 
chest,  who  pulled  his  great  mustachios  as  if  they  were  driving-reins, 
and  spent  days  with  him  in  indefatigable  gambols.  The  room  was 
a  low  room,  and  once,  when  the  child  was  not  five  years  old,  his 
father,  who  was  tossing  him  wildly  up  in  his  arms,  hit  the  poor 
little  chap's  skull  so  violently  against  the  ceiling  that  he  almost 
dropped  the  child,  so  terrified  was  he  at  the  disaster. 

Rawdon  minor  had  made  up  his  face  for  a  tremendous  howl — 
the  severity  of  the  blow  indeed  authorised  that  indulgence ;  but  just 
as  he  was  going  to  begin,  the  father  interposed. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Rawdy,  don't  wake  mamma,"  he  cried.  And 
the  child,  looking  in  a  very  hard  and  piteous  way  at  his  father,  bit 
his  lips,  clenched  his  hands,  and  didn't  cry  a  bit.  Rawdon  told  that 
story  at  the  clubs,  at  the  mess,  to  everybody  in  town.  "  By  Gad, 
sir,"  he  explained  to  the  public  in  general,  "  what  a  good  plucked 
one  that  boy  of  mine  is — what  a  trump  he  is !  I  half  sent  his 
head  through  the  ceiling,  by  Gad,  and  he  wouldn't  cry  for  fear  of 
distiu-bing  his  mother." 

Sometimes — once  or  twice  in  a  week— that  lady  visited  the  upper 
regions  in  which  the  child  lived.     She  came  like  a  vivified  figure  out 
of  the  Magasin  des  Modes — blandly  smiling  in  the  most  beautiful 
new  clothes  and  little  gloves  and  boots.     Wonderful  scarfs,  laces, 
and  jewels  glittered  about  her.     She  had  always  a  new  bonnet  on  : 
and  flowers  bloomed  perpetually  in  it;  or  else  magnificent  curling 
ostrich  feathers,  soft  and  snowy  as  camellias.     She  nodded  twice  or 
thrice  patronisingly  to  the  little  boy,  who  looked  up  from  his  dinner 
or  from  the  pictures  of  soldiers  he  was  painting.     When  she  left 
the  room,  an  odour  of  rose,  or  some  other  magical  fragrance,  lingered^ 
about  the  nursery.      She  was  an  unearthly  being  in  his  eyes,  superior   ) 
to  his  father— to  all  the  world :  to  be  worshipped  and  admired  at   I 
a  distance.     To  drive  with  that  lady  in  the  carriage  was  an  awful  "^ 
rifeT  he  sate  up  in  the  back  seat,  and  did  not  dare  to  speak :  he 
^gazed  with  all  his  eyes  at  the  beautifully  dressed  princess  opposite 
to  him.      Gentlemen  on   splendid  prancing  horses  came  up,  and 
smiled  and  talked  with  her.     How  her  eyes  beamed  upon  all  of 
them  !  her  hand  used  to  quiver  and  wave  gracefully  as  they  passed. 
When  he  went  out  with  her  he  had  his  new  red  dress  on.     His  old 


366  VANITY    FAIR 

brown  holland  was  good  enough  when  he  stayed  at  home.  Some- 
•times,  when  she  was  away,  and  Dolly  his  maid  was  making  his  bed, 
he  came  into  his  mother's  room.  It  was  as  the  abode  of  a  fairy  to 
him — a  mystic  chamber  of  splendour  and  delights.  There  in  the 
wardrobe  hung  those  wonderful  robes — pink  and  blue,  and  many- 
tinted.  There  was  the  jewel-case,  silver-clasped  :  and  the  wondrous 
bronze  hand  on  the  dressing-table,  glistening  all  over  with  a  hundred 
rings.  There  was  the  cheval-glass,  that  miracle  of  art,  in  which  he 
could  just  see  his  own  wondering  head,  and  the  reflection  of  Dolly 

^  (queerly  distorted,  and  as  if  up  in  the  ceiling),  plumping  and  patting 

I    the  pillows  of  the  bed.     Oh,  thou  poor  lonely  little  benighted  boy  ! 

\  Mother  is  the  name  for  God  in  the  lips  and  hearts  of  Httle  children ; 

^and  here  was  one  who  was  worshipping  a  stone ! 

Now  Rawdon  Crawley,  rascal  as  the  Colonel  was,  had  certain 
manly  tendencies  of  affection  in  his  heart,  and  could  love  a  child  and 
a  woman  still.  For  Rawdon  minor  he  had  a  great  secret  tenderness 
then,  which  did  not  escape  Rebecca,  though  she  did  not  talk  about 
it  to  her  husband.  It  did  not  annoy  her  :  she  was  too  good-natured. 
It  only  increased  her  scorn  for  him.  He  felt  somehow  ashamed  of 
this  paternal  softness,  and  hid  it  from  his  wife — only  indulging  in 
it  when  alone  with  the  boy. 

He  used  to  take  him  out  of  mornings,  when  they  would  go  to 
the  stables  together  and  to  the  Park.  Little  Lord  Southdown,  the 
best-natured  of  men,  who  would  make  you  a  present  of  the  hat  from 
his  head,  and  whose  main  occupation  in  life  was  to  buy  nicknacks 
that  he  might  give  them  away  afterwards,  bought  the  little  chap  a 
pony  not  much  bigger  than  a  larg^  rat,  the  donor  said,  and  on  this 
little  black  Shetland  pigmy  young  Rawdon's  great  father  was  pleased 
to  mount  the  boy,  and  to  walk  by  his  side  in  the  Park.  It  pleased 
him  to  see  his  old  quarters,  and  his  old  fellow-guardsmen  at  Knights- 
bridge  :  he  had  begun  to  think  of  his  bachelorhood  with  something 
like  regret.  The  old  troopers  were  glad  to  recognise  their  ancient 
officer,  and  dandle  the  little  Colonel.  Colonel  Crawley  found  dining 
at  mess  and  with  his  brother-ofiicers  very  pleasant.  "  Hang  it,  I 
ain't  clever  enough  for  her — I  know  it.  She  won't  miss  me,"  he 
used  to  say :  and  he  was  right,  his  wife  did  not  miss  him. 

Rebecca  was  fond  of  her  husband.  She  was  always  perfectly 
good-humoured  and  kind  to  him.  She  did  not  even  show  her  scorn 
much  for  him ;  perhaps  she  liked  him  the  better  for  being  a  fool. 
He  was  her  upper  servant  and  mattre  d^hotel.  He  went  on  her 
errands ;  obeyed  her  orders  without  question ;  drove  in  the  carriage 
in  the  ring  with  her  without  repining ;  took  her  to  the  opera-box  ; 
Bolaced  himself  at  his  club  during  the  performance,  and  came  punc- 
tually back  to  fetch  her  when  due.     He  would  have  liked  her  to  be 


GEORGY   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE   WITH   A   WATERLOO   MAN. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  367 

a  little  fonder  of  the  boy  :  but  even  to  that  he  reconciled  himself 
"  Hang  it,  you  know,  she's  so  clever,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  not  literary 
and  that,  you  know."  For,  as  we  have  said  before,  it  requires  no 
great  wisdom  to  be  able  to  win  at^cards  and  billiards,  and  Rawdon 
made  no  pretensions  to  any  other  sort  of  skill 

When  the  companion  came,  his  domestic  duties  became  very 
light.  His  wife  encouraged  him  to  dine  abroad  :  she  would  let  him 
off  duty  at  the  Opera.  "  Don't  stay  and  stupefy  yourself  at  home 
to-night,  my  dear,"  she  would  say.  "  Some  men  are  coming  who 
will  only  bore  you.  I  would  not  ask  them,  but  you  know  it's 
for  your  good,  and  now  I  have  a  sheep-dog,  I  need  not  be  afraid 
to  be  alone." 

"  A  sheep-dog — a  companion  !  Becky  Sharp  with  a  companion  ! 
Isn't  it  good  fun  1 "  thought  Mrs.  Crawley  to  herself.  The  notion 
tickled  hugely  her  sense  of  humour. 

One  Sunday  morning,  as  Rawdon  Crawley,  his  little  son,  and  the 
pony  were  taking  their  accustomed  walk  in  the  Park,  they  passed  by 
an  old  acquaintance  of  the  Colonel's,  Corporal  Clink,  of  the  regiment, 
who  was  in  conversation  with  a  friend,  an  old  gentleman,  who  held 
a  boy  in  his  arms  about  the  age  of  little  Rawdon.  This  other 
youngster  had  seized  hold  of  the  Waterloo  medal  which  the  Corporal 
wore,  and  was  examining  it  with  delight. 

"  Good  moniing,  your  honour,"  said  Clink,  in  reply  to  the  "  How 
do,  Clink  1 "  of  the  Colonel.  "  This  'ere  young  gentleman  is  about 
the  young  Colonel's  age,  sir,"  continued  the  Corporal. 

"  His  father  was  a  Waterloo  man,  too,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
who  carried  the  boy.     "  Wasn't  he,  Georgy  1 " 

"  Yes,"  said  Georgy.  He  and  the  little  chap  on  the  pony  were 
looking  at  each  other  with  all  their  might — solemnly  scanning  each 
other  as  children  do. 

"  In  a  line  regiment,"  Clink  said,  with  a  patronising  air. 

"  He  was  a  Captain  in  the  — th  regiment,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man rather  pompously.  "Captain  George  Osborne,  sir — perhaps 
you  knew  him.  He  died  the  death  of  a  hero,  sir,  fighting  against 
the  Corsican  tyrant." 

Colonel  Crawley  blushed  quite  red.  "  I  knew  him  very  well, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  and  his  wife,  his  dear  little  wife,  sir — how  is  she '? " 

"She  is  my  daughter,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  putting 
down  the  boy,  and  taking  out  a  card  with  great  solemnity,  which 
he  handed  to  the  Colonel.     On  it  was  written — 

"Mr.  Sedley,  Sole  Agent  for  the  Black  Diamond  and  Anti- 
Cinder  Coal  Association,  Bunker's  Wharf,  Thames  Street,  and  Anna- 
Maria  Cottages,  Fulham  Road  West." 


368  VANITY    FAIR 

Little  Goorgy  went  up  and  looked  at  the  Shetland  pony. 

"  Should  you  like  to  have  a  ride  ? "  said  Rawdon  minor  from 
the  saddle. 

"Yes,"  said  Georgy.  The  Colonel,  who  had  been  looking  at 
him  with  some  interest,  took  up  the  child  and  put  him  on  the  pony 
behind  Rawdon  minor. 

"Take  hold  of  him,  Georgy,"  he  said — "take  my  little  boy 
round  the  waist — his  name  is  Rawdon."  And  both  the  children 
began  to  laugh. 

"You  won't  see  a  prettier  pair,  I  think,  this  summer's  day, 
sir,"  said  the  good-natured  Corporal ;  and  the  Colonel,  the  Corporal, 
and  old  Mr.  Sedley  with  his  umbrella,  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
children. 


y 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A  FAMILY  IN  A   VERY  SMALL  WAY 

WE  must  suppose  little  George  Osbome  has  ridden  from 
Knightsbridge  towards  Fulham,  and  will  stop  and  make 
inquiries  at  that  village  regarding  some  friends  whom  we 
have  left  there.  How  is  Mrs.  Amelia  after  the  storm  of  Waterloo  ? 
Is  she  living  and  thriving  ?  What  has  come  of  Major  Dobbin,  whose 
cab  was  always  hankering  about  her  premises  1  and  is  there  any  news 
of  the  Collector  of  Boggley  WoUah  ?  The  facts  concerning  the  latter 
are  briefly  these. 

Our  worthy  fat  friend  Joseph  Sedley  returned  to  India  not  long 
after  his  escape  from  Brussels.  Either  his  furlough  was  up,  or  he 
dreaded  to  meet  any  witnesses  of  his  Waterloo  flight.  However  it 
might  be,  he  went  back  to  his  duties  in  Bengal  very  soon  after  Napo- 
leon had  taken  up  his  residence  at  St.  Helena,  where  Jos  saw  the  ex- 
Emperor.  To  hear  Mr.  Sedley  talk  on  board  ship  you  would  have 
supposed  that  it  was  not  the  first  time  he  and  the  Corsican  had  met, 
and  that  the  civilian  had  bearded  the  French  General  at  Mount  St. 
John.  He  had  a  thousand  anecdotes  about  the  famous  battles ;  he 
knew  the  position  of  every  regiment,  and  the  loss  which  each  had 
incurred.  He  did  not  deny  that  he  had  been  concerned  in  those 
victories — that  he  had  been  with  the  army,  and  carried  despatches  for 
the  Duke  of  Wellington.  And  he  described  what  the  Duke  did  and 
said  on  every  conceivable  moment  of  the  day  of  Waterloo,  with  such 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  his  Grace's  sentiments  and  proceedings, 
that  it  was  clear  he  must  have  been  by  the  conqueror's  side  through- 
out the  day ;  though,  as  a  non-combatant,  his  name  was  not  mentioned 
in  the  public  documents  relative  to  the  battle.  Perhaps  he  actually 
worked  himself  up  to  believe  that  he  had  been  engaged  with  the 
army ;  certain  it  is  that  he  made  a  prodigious  sensation  for  some 
time  at  Calcutta,  and  was  called  Waterloo  Sedley  during  the  whole 
of  his  subsequent  stay  in  Bengal. 

The  bills  which  Jos  had  given  for  the  purchase  of  those  unlucky 
horses  were  paid  without  question  by  him  and  his  agents.  He  never 
was  heard  to  allude  to  the  bargain,  and  nobody  knows  for  a  certainty 
what  became  of  the  horses,  or  how  he  got  rid  of  them,  or  of  Isidor, 


370  VANITY    FAIR 

his  Belgian  servant,  who  sold  a  grey  horse,  very  like  the  one  which 
Jos  rode,  at  Valenciennes  sometime  during  the  autumn  of  1815. 

Jos's  London  agents  had  orders  to  pay  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  yearly  to  his  parents  at  Fulham.     It  was  the  chief  support 
of  the  old  couple ;  for  Mr.  Sedley's  speculations  in  life  subsequent  to 
his  bankruptcy  did  not  by  any  means  retrieve  the  broken  old  gentle- 
man's fortune.     He  tried  to  be  a  wine-merchant,  a  coal-merchant,  a 
commission  lottery  agent,  &c.  &c.     He  sent  round  prospectuses  to 
his  friends  whenever  he  took  a  new  trade,  and  ordered  a  new  brass 
plate  for  the  door,  and  talked  pompously  about  making  his  fortune 
still.     But  Fortune  never  came  back  to  the  feeble  and  stricken  old 
man.     One  by  one  his  friends  dropped  off,  and  were  weary  of  buying 
dear  coals  and  bad  wine  from  him ;  and  there  was  only  his  wife  in 
all  the  world  who  fancied,  when  he  tottered  off  to  the  City  of  a 
morning,  that  he  was  still  doing  any  business  there.     At  evening 
he  crawled  slowly  back ;  and  he  used  to  go  of  nights  to  a  little  club 
/        j      at  a  tavern,  where  he  disposed  of  the  finances  of  the  nation.     It  was 
Y      j      wonderful  to  hear  him  talk  about  millions,  and  agios,  and  discounts, 
\    I      and  what  Rothschild  was  doing,  and  Baring  Brothers.     He  talked 
^       of  such  vast  sums  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  club  (the  apothecary, 
X     the  undertaker,  the  great  carpenter  and  builder,  the  parish  clerk, 
I  \  who  was  allowed  to  come  stealthily,  and  Mr.  Clapp,  our  old  acquaint- 
I        ance)  respected  the  old  gentleman.     *'I  was  better  off  once,  sir," 
he  did  not  fail  to  tell  everybody  who  "  used  the  room."     "  My  son, 
sir,  is  at  this  minute  chief  magistrate  of  Ramgunge  in  the  Presidency 
of  Bengal,  and  touching  his  four  thousand  rupees  per  mensem.     My 
daughter  might  be  a  Colonel's  lady  if  she  liked.     I  might  draw  upon 
my  son,  the  first  magistrate,  sir,  for  two  thousand  pounds  to-morrow, 
and  Alexander  would  cash  my  bill  down,  sir,  down  on  the  counter, 
sir.     But  the  Sedleys  were  always  a  proud  family."     You  and  I, 
my  dear  reader,  may  drop  into  this  condition  one  day :  for  have  not 
many  of  our  friends  attained  it  1     Our  luck  may  fail :  our  powers 
/    forsake  us  :  our  place  on  the  boards  be  taken  by  better  and  younger 
/     mimes — the  chance  of  life  roll  away  and  leave  us  shattered  and 
stranded.     Then  men  will  walk  across  the  road  when  they  meet 
you— or,  worse  still,  hold  you  out  a  couple  of  fingers  and  patronise 
you  in  a  pitying  way — then  you  will  know,  as  soon  as  your  back  is 
turned,  that  your  friend  begins  with  a  "Poor  devil,  what  impru- 
dences he  has  committed,  what  chances  that  chap  has  thrown  away  !  " 
Well,  well — a  carriage  and  three  thousand  a  year  is  not  the  summit 
of  the  reward  nor  the  end  of  God's  judgment  of  men.     If  quacks 
prosper  as  often  as  they  go  to  the  wall — if  zanies  succeed  and  knaves 
arrive  at  fortune,  and,  vice  versa,  sharing  ill-luck  and  prosperity  for 
all  the  world  like  the  ablest  and  most  honest  amongst  us — I  say, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  371 

brother,  the  gifts  and  pleasures  of  Vanity  Fair  cannot  be  held  of 
any  great  account,  and  that  it  is  probable  .  .  but  we  are  wander^ 
ing  out  of  the  domain  of  the  story. 

Had  Mrs.  Sedley  been  a  woman/of  energy,  she  would  have  exerted 
it  after  her  husband's  ruin,  and,  occupying  a  large  house,  would  have 
taken  in  boarders.  The  broken  Sedley  would  have  acted  well  as  the 
boarding-house  landlady's  husband ;  the  Munoz  of  private  life ;  the 
titular  lord  and  master :  the  carver,  house-steward,  and  humble 
husband  of  the  occupier  of  the  dingy  throne.  I  have  seen  men  of 
good  brains  and  breeding,  and  of  good  hopes  and  vigour  once,  who 
feasted  squires  and  kept  hunters  in  their  youth,  meekly  cutting  up  legs 
of  mutton  for  rancorous  old  harridans,  and  pretending  to  preside  over 
their  dreary  tables — but  Mrs.  Sedley,  we  say,  had  not  spirit  enough 
to  bustle  about  for  "a  few  select  inmates  to  join  a  cheerful  musical 
family,"  such  as  one  reads  of  in  the  Times.  She  was  content  to  lie 
on  the  shore  where  Fortune  had  stranded  her — and  you  could  see 
that  the  career  of  this  old  couple  was  over. 

I  don't  think  they  were  unhappy.  Perhaps  they  were  a  little 
prouder  in  their  downfall  than  in  their  prosperity.  Mrs.  Sedley 
was  always  a  great  person  for  her  landlady,  Mrs.  Clapp,  when 
she  descended  and  passed  many  hours  with  her  in  the  basement  01 
ornamented  kitchen.  The  Irish  maid  Betty  Flanagan's  bonnets  and 
ribbons,  her  sauciness,  her  idleness,  her  reckless  prodigality  of  kitchen 
candles,  her  consumption  of  tea  and  sugar,  and  so  forth,  occupied  and 
amused  the  old  lady  almost  as  much  as  the  doings  of  her  former 
household,  when  she  had  Sambo  and  the  coachman,  and  a  groom,  and 
a  footboy,  and  a  housekeeper  with  a  regiment  of  female  domestics — 
her  former  household,  about  which  the  good  lady  talked  a  hundred 
times  a  day.  And  besides  Betty  Flanagan,  Mrs.  Sedley  had  all  the 
maids-of-all-work  in  the  street  to  superintend.  She  knew  how  each 
tenant  of  the  cottages  paid  or  owed  his  little  rent.  She  stepped  aside 
when  Mrs.  Rougemont  the  actress  passed  with  her  dubious  family. 
She  flung  up  her  head  when  Mrs.  Pestler,  the  apothecary's  lady, 
drove  by  in  her  husband's  professional  one-horse  chaise.  She  had 
colloquies  with  the  greengrocer  about  the  pennorth  of  turnips  which 
Mr.  Sedley  loved :  she  kept  an  eye  upon  the  milkman,  and  the 
baker's  boy ;  and  made  visitations  to  the  butcher,  who  sold  hundreds 
of  oxen  very  likely  with  less  ado  than  was  made  about  Mrs.  Sedley's 
loin  of  mutton :  and  she  counted  the  potatoes  under  the  joint  on 
Sundays,  on  which  days,  drest  in  her  best,  she  went  to  church  twice, 
and  read  Blair's  Sermons  in  the  evening. 

On  that  day,  for  "  business  "  prevented  him  on  week  days  from 
taking  such  a  pleasure,  it  was  old  Sedley's  delight  to  take  out  his 
little  grandson  Georgy  to  the  neighbouring  Parks  or  Kensington 


; 


372  VANITY    FAIR 

Gardens,  to  see  the  soldiers  or  to  feed  the  ducks.  Georgy  loved  the  red- 
coats, and  his  grandpapa  told  him  how  his  father  had  been  a  famous 
soldier,  and  introduced  him  to  many  sergeants  and  others  with 
Waterloo  medals  on  their  breasts,  to  whom  the  old  grandfather 
pompously  presented  the  child  as  the  son  of  Captain  Osborne  of  the 
— th,  who  died  gloriously  on  the  glorious  eighteenth.  He  has  been 
known  to  treat  some  of  these  non-commissioned  gentlemen  to  a  glass 
of  porter,  and,  indeed,  in  their  first  Sunday  walks  was  disposed  to 
spoil  little  Georgy,  sadly  gorging  the  boy  with  apples  and  parliament, 
to  the  detriment  of  his  health — until  Amelia  declared  that  George 
should  never  go  out  with  his  grandpapa,  unless  the  latter  promised 
solemnly,  and  on  his  honour,  not  to  give  the  child  any  cakes,  lolli- 
pops, or  stall  produce  whatever. 

Between  Mrs.  Sedley  and  .fer  daughter  there  was  a  sort  ol 
coolness  about  this  boy,  and  a  secret  jealousy — for  one  evening  in 
George's  very  early  days,  Amelia,  who  had  been  seated  at  work  in 
their  little  parlour  scarcely  remarking  that  the  old  lady  had  quitted 
the  room,  ran  upstairs  instinctively  to  the  nursery  at  the  cries  of 
the  child,  who  had  been  asleep  until  that  moment — and  there  found 
Mrs.  Sedley  in  the  act  of  surreptitiously  administering  Daffy's  Elixir, 
to  the  infant.  Amelia,  the  gentlest  and  sweetest  of  everyday 
mortals,  when  she  found  this  meddling  with  her  maternal  authority, 
thrilled  and  trembled  all  over  wdth  anger.  Her  cheeks,  ordinarily 
pale,  now  flushed  up,  until  they  were  as  red  as  they  used  to  be 
when  she  was  a  child  of  twelve  years  old.  She  seized  the  baby  out 
of  her  mother's  arms,  and  then  grasped  at  the  bottle,  leaving  the  old 
lady  gaping  at  her,  furious,  and  holding  the  guilty  teaspoon. 

Amelia  flung  the  bottle  crashing  into  the  fireplace.  "  I  will  not 
have  baby  poisoned,  mamma,"  cried  Emmy,  rocking  the  infant  about 
violently  with  both  her  arms  round  him,  and  turning  with  flashing 
eyes  at  her  mother. 

"  Poisoned,  Amelia  !  "  said  the  old  lady ;  "  this  language  to  me  ? " 

"He  shall  not  have  any  medicine  but  that  which  Mr.  Pestler 
sends  for  him.     He  told  me  that  Daffy's  Elixir  was  poison." 

"  Very  good :  you  think  I'm  a  murderess  then,"  replied  Mrs. 
Sedley.  "This  is  the  language  you  use  to  your  mother.  I  have 
met  with  misfortunes :  I  have  sunk  low  in  life :  I  have  kept  my 
carriage,  and  now  walk  on  foot :  but  I  did  not  know  I  was  a 
murderess  before,  and  thank  you  for  the  news" 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  poor  girl,  who  was  always  ready  for  tears — 
"you  shouldn't  be  hard  upon  me.  I — I  didn't  mean — I  mean,  I 
did  not  wish  to  say  you  would  do  any  wrong  to  this  dear  child ; 
only " 

"Oh  no,  my  love, — only  that  I  was  a  murderess;  in  which 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  373 

case,  I  had  better  go  to  the  Old  Bailey.  Though  I  didn't  poison 
you,  when  you  were  a  child;  but  gave  you  the  best  of  education, 
and  the  most  expensive  masters  money  could  procure.  Yes;  I've 
nursed  five  children,  and  biuied/^  three :  and  the  one  I  loved  the 
best  of  all,  and  tended  through  croup,  and  teething,  and  measles, 
and  hooping-cough,  and  brought  up  with  foreign  masters,  regardless 
of  expense,  and  with  accomplishments  at  Minerva  House — which  I 
never  had  when  I  was  a  girl — when  I  was  too  glad  to  honour  my 
father  and  mother,  that  I  might  live  long  in  the  land,  and  to  be 
useful,  and  not  to  mope  all  day  in  my  room  and  act  the  fine  lady — 
says  I'm  a  murderess.  Ah,  Mrs.  Osborne  !  may  you  never  nourish 
a  viper  in  your  bosom,  that's  my  prayer." 

"  Mamma,  mamma ! "  cried  the  bewildered  girl :  and  the  child 
in  her  arms  set  up  a  frantic  chorus  of  shouts. 

"  A  murderess,  indeed !  Go  down  on  your  knees  and  pray  to 
God  to  cleanse  your  wicked  ungrateful  heart,  Amelia,  and  may  He 
forgive  you  as  I  do;"  and  Mrs.  Sedley  tossed  out  of  the  room, 
hissing  out  the  word  poison  once  more,  and  so  ending  her  charitable 
benediction. 

Till  the  termination  of  her  natural  life,  this  breach  between  Mrs. 
Sedley  and  her  daughter  was  never  thoroughly  mended.  The  quarrel 
gave  the  elder  lady  numberless  advantages  which  she  did  not  fail 
to  turn  to  account  with  female  ingenuity  and  perseverance.  For 
instance,  she  scarcely  spoke  to  Amelia  for  many  weeks  afterwards. 
She  warned  the  domestics  not  to  touch  the  child,  as  Mrs.  Osborne 
might  be  offended.  She  asked  her  daughter  to  see  and  satisfy  herself 
that  there  was  no  poison  prepared  in  the  little  daily  messes  that 
were  concocted  for  Georgy.  When  neighbours  asked  after  the  boy's 
health,  she  referred  them  pointedly  to  Mrs.  Osborne.  She  never 
ventured  to  ask  whether  the  baby  was  well  or  not.  She  would  not 
touch  the  child  although  he  was  her  grandson,  and  own  precious 
darling,  for  she  was  not  used  to  children,  and  might  kill  it.  And 
whenever  Mr.  Pestler  came  upon  his  heaUng  inquisition,  she  received 
the  Doctor  with  such  a  sarcastic  and  scornful  demeanour,  as  made 
the  surgeon  declare  that  not  Lady  Thistlewood  herself,  whom  he  had 
the  honour  of  attending  professionally,  could  give  herself  greater  airs 
than  old  Mrs.  Sedley,  from  whom  he  never  took  a  fee.  And  very 
likely  Emmy  was  jealous  too,  upon  her  own  part,  as  what  mother  is 
not,  of  those  who  would  manage  her  children  for  her,  or  become 
candidates  for  the  first  place  in  their  affections  1  It  is  certain  that 
when  anybody  nursed  the  child,  she  was  uneasy,  and  that  she  would 
no  more  allow  Mrs.  Clapp  or  the  domestic  to  dress  or  tend  him, 
than  she  would  have  let  them  wash  her  husband's  miniature  which 
hung  up  over  her  little  bed  : — the  same  little  bed  from  which  the 

4 


374  VANITY    FAIR 

poor  girl  had  gone  to  his ;  and  to  which  she  retired  now  for  many 
long,  silent,  tearful,  but  happy  years.     ^-^  -^    r- i^^^^^"*"^; 

In  this  room  was  all  Amelia's  heart  and  treasure.  Here  it  was 
that  she  tended  her  boy,  and  watched  him  through  the  many  ills  of 
childhood,  with  a  constant  passion  of  love.  The  elder  George 
returned  in  him  somehow,  only  improved,  and  as  if  come  back  from 
heaven.  In  a  hundred  little  tones,  looks,  and  movements,  the  child 
was  so  like  his  father,  that  the  widow's  heart  thrilled  as  she  held 
him  to  it ;  and  he  would  often  ask  the  cause  of  her  tears.  It  was 
because  of  his  likeness  to  his  father,  she  did  not  scruple  to  tell  him. 
She  talked  constantly  to  him  about  this  dead  father,  and  spoke  of 
her  love  for  George  to  the  innocent  and  wondering  child ;  much  more 
than  she  ever  had  done  to  George  himself,  or  to  any  confidante  of 
her  youth.  To  her  parents  she  never  talked  about  this  matter; 
shrinking  from  baring  her  heart  to  them.  Little  George  very  likely 
could  understand  no  better  than  they ;  but  into  his  ears  she  poured 
her  sentimental  secrets  unreservedly,  and  into  his  only.  The  very 
joy  of  this  woman  was  a  sort  of  grief,  or  so  tender,  at  least,  that  its 
expression  was  tears.  Her  sensibilities  were  so  weak  and  tremulous, 
that  perhaps  they  ought  not  to  be  talked  about  in  a  book.  I  was 
told  by  Dr.  Pestler  (now  a  most  flourishing  lady's  physician,  with  a 
sumptuous  dark  green  carriage,  a  prospect  of  speedy  knighthood, 
and  a  house  in  Manchester  Square),  that  her  grief  at  weaning  the 
child  was  a  sight  that  woidd  have  unmanned  a  Herod.  He  was 
very  soft-hearted  many  years  ago,  and  his  wife  was  mortally  jealous 
of  Mrs.  Amelia,  then  and  long  afterwards. 

Perhaps  the  Doctor's  lady  had  good  reason  for  her  jealousy : 
most  women  shared  it,  of  those  who  formed  the  small  circle  of 
Amelia's  acquaintance,  and  were  quite  angry  at  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  the  other  sex  regarded  her.     For  almost  all  men  who  came 
iiear  her  loved  her ;  though  no  doubt  they  would  be  at  a  loss  to  tell 
/you  why.    She  was  not  brilliant,  nor  witty,  nor  wise  over  much,  nor 
/    extraordinarily  handsome.     But  wherever  she  went  she  touched  and 
I      charmed  every  one  of  the  male  sex,  as  invariably  as  she  awakened 
1     the  scorn  and  incredulity  of  her  own  sisterhood.     I  think  it  was  her 
\     weakness  which  was  her  principal  charm : — a  kind  of  sweet  sub- 
\ ,  mission  and  softness,  which  seemed  to  appeal  to  each  man  she  met 
for  his  sympathy  and  protection.    We  have  seen  how  in  the  regiment, 
though  she  spoke  but  to  few  of  George's  comrades  there,  all  the 
swords  of  the  young  fellows  at  the  mess-table  would  have  leapt  from 
their  scabbards  to  fight  round  her ;  and  so  it  was  in  the  little  narrow 
lodging-house  and  circle  at  Fulham,  she  interested  and  pleased  every- 
body.    If  she  had  been  Mrs.  Mango  herself,  of  the  great  house  of 
Mango,    Plantain,  &  Co.,  Crutched   Friars,  and   the  magnificent 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  375 

proprietress  of  the  Pineries,  Fulham,  who  gave  summer  dejeuners 
frequented  by  Dukes  and  Earis,  and  drove  about  the  parish  with 
magnificent  yellow  liveries  and  bay  horses,  such  as  the  royal  stables 
at  Kensington  themselves  could  nert  turn  out — I  say,  had  she  been 
Mrs.  Mango  herself,  or  her  son's  wife,  Lady  Mary  Mango  (daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Castlemouldy,  who  condescended  to  marry  the  head 
of  the  finn),  the  tradesmen  of  the  neighbourhood  could  not  pay  her 
more  honour  than  they  invariably  showed  to  the  gentle  young  widow, 
when  she  passed  by  their  doors,  or  made  her  humble  purchases  at 
their  shops. 

Thus  it  was  not  only  Mr.  Pestler,  the  medical  man,  but  Mr. 
Linton  the  young  assistant,  who  doctored  the  servant-maids  and 
small  tradesmen,  and  might  be  seen  any  day  reading  the  Times  in 
the  surgery,  who  openly  declared  himself  the  slave  of  Mrs.  Osborne. 
He  was  a  presentable  young  gentleman,  more  welcome  at  Mrs. 
Sedley's  lodgings  than  his  principal ;  and  if  anything  went  wrong 
with  Georgy,  he  would  drop  in  twice  or  thrice  in  the  day  to  see  the 
little  chap,  and  without  so  much  as  the  thought  of  a  fee.  He  would 
abstract  lozenges,  tamarinds,  and  other  produce  from  the  surgery- 
drawers  for  little  Georgy's  benefit,  and  compounded  draughts  and 
mixtures  for  him  of  miraculous  sweetness,  so  that  it  was  quite  a 
pleasure  to  the  child  to  be  ailing.  He  and  Pestler,  his  chief,  sate 
up  two  whole  nights  by  the  boy  in  that  momentous  and  awful  week 
when  Georgy  had  the  measles ;  and  when  you  woidd  have  thought, 
from  the  mother's  terror,  that  there  had  never  been  measles  in  the 
world  before.  Would  they  have  done  as  much  for  other  people  1 
Did  they  sit  up  for  the  folks  at  the  Pineries,  when  Ralph  Planta- 
genetj  and  Gwendoline,  and  Guinever  Mango  had  the  same  juvenile 
complaint"?  Did  they  sit  up  for  little  Mary  Clapp,  the  landlord's 
daughter,  who  actually  caught  the  disease  off  little  Georgy  1  Truth 
compels  one  to  say,  no.  They  slept  quite  undisturbed,  at  least  as 
far  as  she  was  concerned — pronounced  hers  to  be  a  slight  case,  which 
woidd  almost  cure  itself,  sent  her  in  a  draught  or  two,  and  threw 
in  bark  when  the  child  rallied,  with  perfect  indifference,  and  just  for 
form's  sake. 

Again,  there  was  the  little  French  chevalier  opposite,  who  gave 
lessons  in  his  native  tongue  at  various  schools  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  who  might  be  heard  in  his  apartment  of  nights  playing  tremu- 
lous old  gavottes  and  minuets,  on  a  wheezy  old  fiddle.  Whenever 
this  powdered  and  courteous  old  man,  who  never  missed  a  Sunday 
at  the  convent  chapel  at  Hammersmith,  and  who  was  in  all  re- 
spects, thoughts,  conduct,  and  bearing,  utterly  unlike  the  bearded 
savages  of  his  nation,  who  curse  pei-fidious  Albion,  and  scowl  at  you 
from  over  their  cigars,  in  the  Quadrant  arcades  at  the  present  day — 


376  VANITY    FAIR 

whenever  the  old  Chevalier  de  Talonrouge  spoke  of  Mistress  Osborne, 
he  would  first  finish  his  pinch  of  snuff,  flick  away  the  remaining 
particles  of  dust  with  a  graceful  wave  of  his  hand,  gather  up  his 
fingers  again,  into  a  bunch,  and,  bringing  them  up  to  his  mouth, 
blow  them  open  with  a  kiss,  exclaiming.  Ah !  la  divine  creature  ! 
He  vowed  and  protested  that  when  Amelia  walked  in  the  Brompton 
lanes  flowers  grew  in  profusion  under  her  feet.  He  called  little 
Georgy  Cupid,  and  asked  him  news  of  Venus,  his  mamma ;  and  told 
•the  astonished  Betty  Flanagan  that  she  was  one  of  the  Graces,  and 
the  favourite  attendant  of  the  Reine  des  Amours. 

Instances  might  be  multiplied  of  this  easily  gained  and  uncon- 
scious popidarity.  Did  not  Mr.  Binny,  the  mild  and  genteel  curate 
of  the  district  chapel,  which  the  family  attended,  call  assiduously 
upon  the  widow,  dandle  the  little  boy  on  his  knee,  and  offer  to  teach 
him  Latin,  to  the  anger  of  the  elderly  virgin,  his  sister,  who  kept 
house  for  him  1  "  There  is  nothing  in  her,  Beilby,"  the  latter  lady 
would  say.  "  When  she  comes  to  tea  here  she  does  not  speak  a 
word  during  the  whole  evening.  She  is  but  a  poor  lackadaisical 
creature,  and  it  is  my  belief  has  no  heart  at  all.  It  is  only  her 
pretty  face  which  all  you  gentlemen  admire  so.  Miss  Grits,  who 
has  five  thousand  pounds,  and  expectations  besides,  has  twice  as 
much  character,  and  is  a  thousand  times  more  agreeable  to  my 
taste ;  and  if  she  were  good-looking  I  know  that  you  would  think 
her  perfection." 

Very  likely  Miss  Binny  was  right  to  a  great  extent.  It  is  the 
pretty  face  which  creates  sympathy  in  the  hearts  of  men,  those 
wicked  rogues.  A  woman  may  possess  the  wisdom  and  chastity  of 
Minerva,  and  we  give  no  heed  to  her,  if  she  has  a  plain  face.  What 
folly  will  not  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  make  pardonable?  What 
dulness  may  not  red  lips  and  sweet  accents  render  pleasant  ?  And 
so,  with  their  usual  sense  of  justice,  ladies  argue  that  because  a 
woman  is  handsome,  therefore  she  is  a  fool.  Oh  ladies,  ladies ! 
there  are  some  of  you  who  are  neither  handsome  nor  wise. 

These  are  but  trivial  incidents  to  recount  in  the  life  of  our 
heroine.  Her  tale  does  not  deal  in  wonders,  as  the  gentle  reader 
has  already  no  doubt  perceived ;  and  if  a  journal  had  been  kept  of 
her  proceedings  during  the  seven  years  after  the  birth  of -her  son, 
there  would  have  been  found  few  incidents  more  remarkable  in  it 
than  that  of  the  measles,  recorded  in  the  foregoing  page.  Yes,  one 
day,  and  greatly  to  her  wonder,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Binny,  just 
mentioned,  asked  her  to  change  her  name  of  Osborne  for  his  own ; 
when,  with  deep  blushes,  and  tears  in  her  eyes  and  voice,  she 
thanked  him  for  his  regard  for  her,  expressed  gratitude  for  his 
attentions  to  her  and  to  her  poor  little  boy,  but  said  that  she 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  377 

never,  never  could  think  of  any  but — but  the  husband  whom  she 
had  lost. 

On  the  twenty-fifth  of  April,  and  the  eighteenth  of  June,  the 
days  of  marriage  and  widowhood,  she  kept  her  room  entirely,  con- 
secrating them  (and  we  do  not  know  how  many  hours  of  solitary 
night-thought,  her  little  boy  sleeping  in  his  crib  by  her  bedside)  to 
the  memory  of  that  departed  friend.  During  the  day  she  was  more 
active.  She  had  to  teach  George  to  read  and  to  write,  and  a  little 
to  draw.  She  read  books,  in  order  that  she  might  tell  him  stories 
from  them.  As  his  eyes  opened,  and  his  mind  expanded,  under  the 
influence  of  the  outward  nature  round  about  him,  she  taught  the 
child,  to  the  best  of  her  humble  power,  to  acknowledge  the  Maker 
of  all  j  and  every  night  and  every  morning  he  and  she — (in  that  , 
awful  and  touching  communion  which  I  think  must  bring  a  thrill  1  tj^^ 
to  the  heart  of  every  man  who  witnesses  or  who  remembers  it) — the  '  ^ 
mother  and  the  little  boy — prayed  to  Our  Father  together,  the 
mother  pleading  with  all  her  gentle  heart,  the  child  lisping  after  her 
as  she  spoke.  And  each  time  they  prayed  to  God  to  bless  dear 
papa,  as  if  he  were  alive  and  in  the  room  with  them. 

To  wash  and  dress  this  young  gentleman — to  take  him  for  a 
run  of  the  mornings,  before  breakfast,  and  the  retreat  of  grandpapa  ^ 

for  "  business  " — to  make  for  him  the  most  wonderful  and  ingenious  Ji 

dresses,  for  which  end  the  thrifty  widow  cut  up  and  altered  every  v,^ 

available  little  bit  of  finery  which  she  possessed  out  of  her  wardrobe 
during  her  marriage — for  Mrs.  Osborne  herself  (greatly  to  her 
mother's  vexation,  who  preferred  fine  clothes,  especially  since  her  ,'  Kr 
misfortunes)  always  wore  a  black  gown,  and  a  straw  bonnet  with  a  /  ^  .^ 
black  ribbon — occupied  her  many  hours  of  the  day.  Others  she  had 
to  spare,  at  the  service  of  her  mother  and  her  old  father.  She  had 
taken  the  pains  to  learn,  and  used  to  play  cribbage  with  this  gentle- 
man on  the  nights  when  he  did  not  go  to  his  club.  She  sang  for 
him  when  he  was  so  minded,  and  it  was  a  good  sign,  for  he  invari 
ably  fell  into  a  comfortable  sleep  during  the  music.  She  wrote  out 
his  numerous  memorials,  letters,  prospectuses,  and  projects.  It  was 
in  her  handwriting  that  most  of  the  old  gentleman's  former  acquaint- 
ances were  informed  that  he  had  become  an  agent  for  the  Black 
Diamond  and  Anti-Cinder  Coal  Company,  and  could  supply  his 
friends  and  the  pubUc  with  the  best  coals  at  — s.  per  chaldron. 
All  he  did  was  to  sign  the  circulars  with  his  flourish  and  signature, 
and  direct  them  in  a  shaky,  clerk-like  hand.  One  of  these  papers 
was  sent  to  Major  Dobbin,  —  Regt.,  care  of  Messrs.  Cox  and 
Greenwood;  but  the  Major  being  in  Madras  at  the  time,  had  no 
particular  call  for  coals.  He  knew,  though,  the  hand  which  had 
written  the  prospectus.     Good  God  !  what  would  he  not  have  given 


m 


378  VANITY    FAIR 

to  hold  it  in  his  own  !  A  second  prospectus  came  out,  informing 
the  Major  that  J.  Sedley  &  Cotnpany,  having  established  agencies 
at  Oporto,  Bordeaux,  and  St.  Mary's,  were  enabled  to  offer  to  their 
friends  and  the  public  generally,  the  finest  and  most  celebrated 
growths  of  ports,  sherries,  and  claret  wines  at  reasonable  prices,  and 
under  extraordinary  advantages.  Acting  upon  this  hint,  Dobbin 
furiously  canvassed  the  governor,  the  commander-in-chief,  the  judges, 
the  regiments,  and  everybody  whom  he  knew  in  the  Presidency, 
and  sent  home  to  Sedley  &  Co.  orders  for  wine  which  perfectly 
astonished  Mr.  Sedley  and  Mr.  Clapp,  who  was  the  Co.  in  the 
business.  But  no  more  orders  came  after  that  first  burst  of  good 
fortune,  on  which  poor  old  Sedley  was  about  to  build  a  house  in  the 
City,  a  regiment  of  clerks,  a  dock  to  himself,  and  correspondents  all 
over  the  world.  The  old  gentleman's  former  taste  in  wine  had  gone  : 
the  curses  of  the  mess-room  assailed  Major  Dobbin  for  the  vile 
drinks  he  had  been  the  means  of  introducing  there ;  and  he  bought 
back  a  great  quantity  of  the  wine,  and  sold  it  at  public  outcry,  at 
an  enormous  loss  to  himself.  As  for  Jos,  who  was  by  this  time 
promoted  to  a  seat  at  the  Revenue  Board  at  Calcutta,  he  was  wild 
with  rage  when  the  post  brought  him  out  a  bundle  of  these  Baccha- 
nalian prospectuses,  with  a  private  note  from  his  father,  telling  Jos 
that  his  senior  counted  upon  him  in  this  enterprise,  and  had  con- 
signed a  quantity  of  select  wines  to  him,  as  per  invoice,  drawing 
bills  upon  him  for  the  amount  of  the  same.  Jos,  who  would  no 
more  have  it  supposed  that  his  father,  Jos  Sedley's  father,  of  the 
Board  of  Revenue,  was  a  wine  merchant  asking  for  orders,  than  that 
he  was  Jack  Ketch,  refused  the  bills  with  scorn,  wrote  back  con- 
tumeliously  to  the  old  gentleman,  bidding  him  to  mind  his  own 
affairs;  and  the  protested  paper  coming  back,  Sedley  &  Co.  had 
to  take  it  up,  with  the  profits  which  they  had  made  out  of  the 
Madras  venture,  and  with  a  little  portion  of  Emmy's  savings. 

Besides  her  pension  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  there  had  been  five 
lumdred  pounds,  as  her  husband's  executors  stated,  left  in  the  agents' 
hands  at  the  time  of  Osborne's  demise,  which  sum,  as  George's 
guardian,  Dobbin  proposed  to  put  out  at  8  per  cent,  in  an  Indian 
house  of  agency.  Mr.  Sedley,  who  thought  the  Major  had  some 
roguish  intentions  of  his  own  about  the  money,  was  strongly  against 
this  plan ;  and  he  went  to  the  agents  to  protest  personally  against 
the  employment  of  the  money  in  question,  when  he  learned,  to  his 
surprise,  that  there  had  been  no  such  sum  in  their  hands,  that  all 
the  late  Captain's  assets  did  not  amount  to  a  hundred  pounds,  and 
that  the  five  hundred  pounds  in  question  must  be  a  separate  sum, 
of  wliich  Major  Dobbin  knew  the  particulars.  More  than  ever  con- 
vinced that  there  was  some  roguery,  old  Sedley  pursued  the  Major. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  379 

As  his  daughter's  nearest  friend,  he  demanded  with  a  high  hand,  a 
statement  of  tlie  late  Captain's  accounts.  Dobbin's  stammering, 
blushing,  and  awkwardness  added  to  the  other's  convictions  that 
he  had  a  rogue  to  deal  with ;  and^  in  a  majestic  tone  he  told  that 
officer  a  piece  of  his  mind,  as  he  called  it,  simply  stating  his  belief 
that  the  Major  was  unlawfully  detaining  his  late  son-in-law's  money. 

Dobbin  at  this  lost  all  patience,  and  if  his  accuser  had  not  been 
so  old  and  so  broken,  a  quarrel  might  have  ensued  between  them  at 
the  Slaughters'  Coffee-house,  in  a  box  of  which  place  of  entertain- 
ment the  gentlemen  had  their  colloquy.  "  Come  upstairs,  sir," 
lisped  out  the  Major.  "  I  insist  on  your  coming  up  the  stairs,  and 
I  will  show  which  is  the  injured  party,  poor  George  or  I ; "  and, 
dragging  the  old  gentleman  up  to  his  bedroom,  he  produced  from 
his  desk  Osborne's  accounts,  and  a  bundle  of  I  0  U's  which  the 
latter  had  given,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  was  always  ready  to  give 
an  I  0  U.  "  He  paid  his  bills  in  England,"  Dobbin  added,  "  but 
he  had  not  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  world  when  he  fell.  I  and  one 
or  two  of  his  brother-officers  made  up  the  little  sum,  which  was  all 
that  we  could  spare,  and  you  dare  tell  us  that  we  are  trying  to  cheat 
the  widow  and  the  orphan."  Sedley  was  very  contrite  and  humbled, 
though  the  fact  is,  that  William  Dobbin  had  told  a  great  falsehood 
to  the  old  gentleman ;  having  himself  given  every  shilling  of  the 
money,  having  buried  his  friend,  and  paid  all  the  fees  and  chargefii 
incident  upon  the  calamity  and  removal  of  poor  Amelia. 

About  these  expenses  old  Osborne  had  never  given  himself  any 
trouble  to  think,  nor  any  other  relative  of  Amelia,  nor  Amelia  her- 
self, indeed.  She  trusted  to  Major  Dobbin  as  an  accoimtant,  took 
his  somewhat  confused  calculations  for  granted :  and  never  once 
suspected  how  much  she  was  in  his  debt. 

Twice  or  thrice  in  the  year,  according  to  her  promise,  she  wrote 
him  letters  to  Madras,  letters  all  about  little  Georgy.  How  he 
treasured  these  papers  !  Whenever  Amelia  wrote  he  answered,  and 
not  until  then.  But  he  sent  over  endless  remembrances  of  himself 
to  his  godson  and  to  her.  He  ordered  and  sent  a  box  of  scarfs,  and 
a  grand  ivory  set  of  chessmen  from  China.  The  pawns  were  little 
green  and  white  men,  with  real  swords  and  shields;  the  knights 
were  on  horseback,  the  castles  were  on  the  backs  of  elephants. 
"  Mrs.  Mango's  own  set  at  the  Pineries  was  not  so  fine,"  Mr.  Pestler 
remarked.  These  chessmen  were  the  delight  of  Georgy's  life,  who 
printed  his  first  letter  in  acknowledgment  of  this  gift  of  his  godpapa. 
He  sent  over  preserves  and  pickles,  which  latter  the  young  gentle- 
man tried  surreptitiously  in  the  sideboard,  and  half-killed  himself 
with  eating.  He  thought  it  was  a  judgment  upon  him  for  stealing, 
they  were  so  hot.     Emmy  wrote  a  comical  little  account  of  this 


380  VANITY   FAIR 

mishap  to  the  Major :  it  pleased  him  to  think  that  her  spirits  were 
rallying,  and  that  she  could  be  merry  sometimes  now.  He  sent 
over  a  pair  of  shawls,  a  white  one  for  her,  and  a  black  one  with 
palm-leaves  for  her  mother,  and  a  pair  of  red  scarfs,  as  winter 
wrappers,  for  old  Mr.  Sedley  and  George.  The  shawls  were  worth 
fifty  guineas  apiece  at  the  very  least,  as  Mrs.  Sedley  knew.  She 
wore  hers  in  state  at  church  at  Brompton,  and  was  congratulated 
by  her  female  friends  upon  the  splendid  acquisition.  Emmy's,  too, 
became  prettily  her  modest  black  gown.  "  What  a  pity  it  is  she 
won't  think  of  him ! "  Mrs.  Sedley  remarked  to  Mrs.  Clapp,  and  to 
all  her  friends  of  Brompton.  "  Jos  never  sent  us  such  presents,  I 
am  sure,  and  grudges  us  everything.  It  is  evident  that  the  Major 
is  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her :  and  yet,  whenever  I  so 
much  as  hint  it,  she  turns  red  and  begins  to  cry,  and  goes  and  sits 
upstairs  with  her  miniature.  I'm  sick  of  that  miniature.  I  wish 
we  had  never  seen  those  odious  purse-proud  Osbornes." 

Amidst  such  humble  scenes  and  associates  George's  early  youth 
was  passed,  and  the  boy  grew  up  delicate,  sensitive,  imperious, 
woman-bred — domineering  the  gentle  mother  whom  he  loved  with 
passionate  affection.  He  ruled  all  the  rest  of  the  little  world  round 
about  him.  As  he  grew,  the  elders  were  amazed  at  his  haughty 
manner  and  his  constant  likeness  to  his  father.  He  asked  questions 
about  everything,  as  inquiring  youth  will  do.  The  profimdity  of 
his  remarks  and  interrogatories  astonished  his  old  grandfather,  who 
perfectly  bored  the  club  at  the  tavern  with  stories  about  the  little 
lad's  learning  and  genius.  He  suffered  his  grandmother  with  a 
good-humoured  indifference.      The  small   circle   round  about  him 

(believed  that  the  equal  of  the  boy  did  not  exist  upon  the  earth. 
Georgy  inherited  his  father's  pride,  and  perhaps  thought  they  were 
not  wrong. 
When  he  grew  to  be  about  six  years  old,  Dobbin  began  to  write 
to  him  very  much.  The  Major  wanted  to  hear  that  Georgy  was 
going  to  a  school,  and  hoped  he  would  acquit  himself  with  credit 
there :  or  would  he  have  a  good  tutor  at  home  1  it  was  time  that 
he  should  begin  to  learn;  and  his  godfather  and  guardian  hinted 
that  he  hoped  to  be  allowed  to  defray  the  charges  of  the  boy's  educa- 
tion, which  would  fall  heavily  upon  his  mother's  straitened  income. 
The  Major,  in  a  word,  was  always  thinking  about  Amelia  and  her 
little  boy,  and  by  orders  to  his  agents  kept  the  latter  provided  with 
picture-books,  paint-boxes,  desks,  and  all  conceivable  implements  of 
amusement  and  instruction.  Three  days  before  George's  sixth  birth- 
day a  gentleman  in  a  gig,  accompanied  by  a  servant,  drove  up  to 
Mr.  Sedley's  house,  and  asked  to  see  Master  George  Osborne :  it 
was  Mr.  Woolsey,  military  tailor,  of  Conduit  Street,  who  came  at 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  381 

the  Major's  order  to  measure  the  young  gentleman  for  a  suit  of 
clothes.  He  had  had  the  honour  of  making  for  the  Captain,  the 
young  gentleman's  father. 

Sometimes,  too,  and  by  the  Moor's  desire  no  doubt,  his  sisters, 
the  Misses  Dobbin,  would  call  in  the  family  carriage  to  take  Amelia 
and  the  little  boy  a  drive  if  they  were  so  inclined.  The  patronage 
and  kindness  of  these  ladies  was  very  uncomfortable  to  Amelia,  but 
she  bore  it  meekly  enough,  for  her jaajiure  was  to  yield ;  and,  besides, 
the  carriage  and  its  splendours  gave  little  Georgylmmense  pleasure. 
The  ladies  begged  occasionally  that  the  child  might  pass  a  day  with 
them,  and  he  was  always  glad  to  go  to  that  fine  garden-house  at 
Denmark  Hill,  where  they  lived,  and  where  there  were  such  fine 
grapes  in  the  hot-houses  and  peaches  on  the  walls. 

One  day  they  kindly  came  over  to  Amelia  with  news  which  they 
were  sure  would  delight  her — something  very  interesting  about  their 
dear  Wilham. 

"  What  was  it :  was  he  coming  home  ? "  she  asked  with  pleasure 
beaming  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh  no — not  the  least — but  they  had  very  good  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  dear  William  was  about  to  be  married — and  to  a  relation 
of  a  very  dear  friend  of  Amelia's — to  Miss  Glorvina  O'Dowd,  Sir 
Michael  O'Dowd's  sister,  who  had  gone  out  to  join  Lady  O'Dowd  at 
Madras — a  very  beautiful  and  accomplished  girl,  everybody  said." 
X  Amelia  said  "  Oh  ! "     Amelia  was  very  very  happy  indeed.     But 

(     she  supposed  Glorvina  could  not  be  like  her  old  acquaintance,  who 
\    was  most  kind — but — but  she  was  very  happy  indeed.     And  by 
J    some  impulse  of  which  I  cannot  explain  the  meaning,  she  took 
\   George  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him  with  an  extraordinary  tender- 
I  ness.     Her  eyes  were  quite  moist  when  she  put  the  child  down ; 
/   and  she  scarcely  spoke  a  word  during  the  whole  of  the  drive — 
i    though  she  was  so  very  happy  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

A     CONICAL    CHAPTER 

OUR  duty  now  takes  us  back  for  a  brief  space  to  some  old 
Hampshire  acquaintances  of  'ours,  whose  hopes  respecting 
the  disposal  of  their  rich  kinswoman's  property  were  so 
wofully  disappointed.  After  counting  upon  thirty  thousand  pounds 
from  his  sister,  it  was  a  heavy  blow  to  Bute  Crawley  to  receive  but 
five ;  out  of  which  sum,  when  he  had  paid  his  own  debts  and  those 
of  Jim,  his  son  at  college,  a  very  small  fragment  remained  to  portion 
off  his  four  plain  daughters.  Mrs.  Bute  never  knew,  or  at  least 
never  acknowledged,  how  far  her  own  tyrannous  behaviour  had 
tended  to  ruin  her  husband.  All  that  woman  could  do,  she  vowed 
and  protested  she  had  done.  Was  it  her  fault  if  she  did  not  possess 
those  sycophantic  arts  which  her  hypocritical  nephew,  Pitt  Crawley, 
practised  1  She  wished  him  all  the  happiness  which  he  merited  out 
of  his  ill-gotten  gains.  "At  least  the  money  will  remain  in  the 
family,"  she  said  charitably.  "  Pitt  will  never  spend  it,  my  dear, 
that  is  quite  certain ;  for  a  greater  miser  does  not  exist  in  England, 
and  he  is  as  odious,  though  in  a  different  way,  as  his  spendthrift 
brother,  the  abandoned  Rawdon." 

So  Mrs.  Bute,  after  the  first  shock  of  rage  and  disappointment, 
began  to  accommodate  herself  as  best  she  could  to  her  altered 
fortunes,  and  to  save  and  retrench  with  all  her  might.  She 
instructed  her  daughters  how  to  bear  poverty  cheerfully,  and  invented 
a  thousand  notable  methods  to  conceal  or  evade  it.  She  took  them 
about  to  balls  and  public  places  in  the  neighbourhood,  with  praise- 
worthy energy ;  nay,  she  entertained  her  friends  in  a  hospitable 
comfortable  manner  at  the  Rectory,  and  much  more  fi-equently  than 
before  dear  Miss  Crawley's  legacy  had  fallen  in.  From  her  outward 
bearing  nobody  would  have  supposed  that  the  family  had  been  dis- 
appointed in  their  expectations  :  or  have  guessed  from  her  frequent 
appearance  in  public  how  she  pinched  and  starved  at  home.  Her 
girls  had  more  milliners'  fiuniture  than  they  had  ever  enjoyed  before. 
They  appeared  perseveringly  at  the  Winchester  and  Southampton 
assemblies ;  they  penetrated  to  Cowes  for  the  race-balls  and  regatta- 
gaieties  there;  and  their  carriage,  with  the  horses  taken  from  the 


A  NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  383 

plough,  was  at  work  perpetually,  until  it  began  almost  to  be  believed 
that  the  four  sisters  had  had  fortunes  left  them  by  their  aunt,  whose 
name  the  family  never  mentioned  in  public  but  with  the  most 
.tender  gratitude  and  regard.  IJjnow  no  sort  of  lying  which  is  more 
frequent  in  Vanity  Fair  than  this;  and  ft'inay  be  remarked  how 
people  who  practise  it  take  credit  to  themselves  for  their  hypocrisy, 
and  fancy  that  they  are  exceedingly  virtuous  and  praiseworthy, 
because  they  are  able  to  deceive  the  world  with  regard  to  the  extent 
of  their  means. 

Mrs.  Bute  certainly  thought  herself  one  of  the  most  virtuous 
women  in  England,  and  the  sight  of  her  happy  family  was  an 
edifying  one  to  strangers.  They  were  so  cheerful,  so  loving,  so 
well  educated,  so  simple !  Martha  painted  flowers  exquisitely, 
and  furaished  half  the  charity-bazaars  in  the  county.  Emma 
was  a  regular  County  Bulbul,  and  her  verses  in  the  Hampshire 
Telegraph  were  the  glory  of  its  Poet's  Corner.  Fanny  and  Matilda 
sang  duets  together,  mamma  playing  the  piano,  and  the  other  two 
sisters  sitting  with  their  arms  round  each  other's  waists,  and  listen- 
ing affectionately.  Nobody  saw  the  poor  girls  drumming  at  the 
duets  in  private.  No  one  saw  mamma  drilling  them  rigidly  hour 
after  hour.  In  a  word,  Mrs.  Bute  put  a  good  face  against  fortune, 
and  kept  up  appearances  in  the  most  virtuous  manner. 

Everything  that  a  good  and  respectable  mother  could  do  Mrs. 
Bute  did.  She  got  over  yachting  men  from  Southampton,  parsons 
from  the  Cathedral  Close  at  Winchester,  and  officers  from  the 
barracks  there.  She  tried  to  inveigle  the  young  barristers  at  assizes, 
and  encouraged  Jim  to  bring  home  friends  with  whom  he  went  out 
hunting  with  the  H.  H.  What  will  not  a  mother  do  for  the  benefit 
of  her  beloved  ones  % 

Between  such  a  woman  and  her  brother-in-law,  the  odious  Baronet 
at  the  Hall,  it  is  manifest  that  there  could  be  very  little  in  common. 
The  rupture  between  Bute  and  his  brother  Sir  Pitt  was  complete ; 
indeed,  between  Sir  Pitt  and  the  whole  county,  to  which  the  old 
man  was  a  scandal.  His  dislike  for  respectable  society  increased 
with  age,  and  the  lodge-gates  had  not  opened  to  a  gentleman's 
carriage-wheels  since  Pitt  and  Lady  Jane  came  to  pay  their  visit  of 
duty  after  their  marriage. 

That  was  an  awfid  and  unfortunate  visit,  never  to  be  thought  of 
by  the  family  without  horror.  Pitt  begged  his  wife,  with  a  ghastly 
countenance,  never  to  speak  of  it ;  and  it  was  only  through  Mrs. 
Bute  herself,  who  still  knew  everything  which  took  place  at  the 
Hall,  that  the  circumstances  of  Sir  Pitt's  reception  of  his  son  and 
daughter-in-law  were  ever  known  at  all. 

As  they  drove  up  the  avenue  of  the  park  in  their  neat  and  well 


) 


384  VANITY    FAIR 

appointed  carriage,  Pitt  remarked  with  dismay  and  wrath  great 
gaps  among  the  trees — his  trees — which  the  old  Baronet  was  felling 
entirely  without  licence.  The  park  wore  an  aspect  of  utter  dreari- 
ness and  ruin.  The  drives  were  ill  kept,  and  the  neat  carriage 
splashed  and  floundered  in  muddy  pools  along  the  road.  The 
great  sweep  in  front  of  the  terrace  and  entrance  stair  was  black 
and  covered  with  mosses ;  the  once  trim  flower-beds  rank  and  weedy. 
Shutters  were  up  along  almost  the  whole  line  of  the  house ;  the  great 
hall  door  was  unbarred  after  much  ringing  of  the  bell ;  an  individual 
in  ribbons  was  seen  flitting  up  the  black  oak  stair,  as  Horrocks  at 
length  admitted  the  heir  of  Queen's  Crawley  and  his  bride  into  the 
halls  of  their  fathers.  He  led  the  way  into  Sir  Pitt's  "  Library," 
as  it  was  called,  the  fumes  of  tobacco  growing  stronger  as  Pitt  and 
Lady  Jane  approached  that  apartment.  "  Sir  Pitt  ain't  very  well," 
Horrocks  remarked  apologetically,  and  hinted  that  his  master  was 
afflicted  with  lumbago. 

The  library  looked  out  on  the  front  walk  and  park.  Sir  Pitt 
had  opened  one  of  the  windows,  and  was  bawling  out  thence  to  the 
postillion  and  Pitt's  servant,  who  seemed  to  be  about  to  take  the 
baggage  down. 

"  Don't  move  none  of  them  trunks,"  he  cried,  pointing  with  a 
pipe  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  "  It's  only  a  morning  visit.  Tucker, 
you  fool.  Lor,  what  cracks  that  off  boss  has  in  his  heels !  Ain't 
there  no  one  at  the  King's  Head  to  rub  'em  a  little  ?  How  do,  Pitt  ? 
How  do,  my  dear  ?  Come  to  see  the  old  man,  hay  1  'Gad — you've 
a  pretty  face,  too.  You  ain't  like  that  old  horse-godmother,  your 
mother.     Come  and  give  old  Pitt  a  kiss,  like  a  good  little  gal." 

The  embrace  disconcerted  the  daughter-in-law  somewhat,  as  the 
caresses  of  the  old  gentleman,  unshorn  and  perfumed  with  tobacco, 
might  well  do.  But  she  remembered  that  her  brother  Southdown 
had  mustachios,  and  smoked  cigars,  and  submitted  to  the  Baronet 
with  a  tolerable  grace. 

"  Pitt  has  got  vat,"  said  the  Baronet,  after  this  mark  of  affection. 
"  Does  he  read  ee  very  long  zermons,  my  dear  ?  Hundredth  Psalm, 
Evening  Hymn,  hay,  Pitt?  Go  and  get  a  glass  of  malmsey  and  a 
cake  for  my  Lady  Jane,  Horrocks,  you  great  big  booby,  and  don't 
stand  stearing  there  like  a  fat  pig.  I  won't  ask  you  to  stop,  my 
dear;  you'll  find  it  too  stoopid,  and  so  should  I  too  along  a  Pitt. 
I'm  an  old  man  now,  and  like  my  own  ways,  and  my  pipe  and 
backgammon  of  a  night." 

"  I  can  play  at  backgammon,  sir,"  said  Lady  Jane,  laughing.  "  I 
used  to  play  with  papa  and  Miss  Crawley,  didn't  I,  Mr.  Crawley  1 " 

"  Lady  Jane  can  play,  sir,  at  the  game  to  which  you  state  that 
you  are  so  partial,"  Pitt  said  haughtily. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  385 

"But  she  wawn't  stop  for  all  that.  Naw,  naw,  goo  back  to 
Mudbury  and  give  Mrs.  Rincer  a  benefit :  or  drive  down  to  the 
Rectory,  and  ask  Buty  for  a  dinner.  He'll  be  charmed  to  see  you, 
you  know ;  he's  so  much  obliged  to  ^ou  for  gettin'  the  old  woman's 
money.  Ha,  ha !  Some  of  it  will  do  to  patch  up  the  Hall  when 
I'm  gone." 

"  I  perceive,  sir,"  said  Pitt,  with  a  heightened  voice,  "  that  your 
people  will  cut  down  the  timber." 

"  Yees,  yees,  very  fine  weather,  and  seasonable  for  the  time  of 
year,"  Sir  Pitt  answered,  who  had  suddenly  grown  deaf.  "  But  I'm 
gittin'  old,  Pitt,  now.  Law  bless  you,  you  ain't  far  from  fifty  your- 
self But  he  wears  well,  my  pretty  Lady  Jane,  don't  he  1  It's  all 
godliness,  sobriety,  and  a  moral  life.  Look  at  me,  I'm  not  very  fur 
from  fowr-score — he,  he ; "  and  he  laughed,  and  took  snuff",  and  leered 
at  her  and  pinched  her  hand. 

Pitt  once  more  brought  the  conversation  back  to  the  timber: 
but  the  Baronet  was  deaf  again  in  an  instant. 

"  I'm  gittin'  very  old,  and  have  been  cruel  bad  this  year  with 
the  lumbago.  I  shan't  be  here  now  for  long ;  but  I'm  glad  ee've 
come,  daughter-in-law.  I  like  your  face,  Lady  Jane :  it's  got  none 
of  the  damned  high-boned  Binkie  look  in  it ;  and  I'll  give  ee  some- 
thing pretty,  my  dear,  to  go  to  Court  in."  And  he  shuffled  across 
the  room  to  a  cupboard,  from  which  he  took  a  little  old  case  con- 
taining jewels  of  some  value.  "Take  that,"  said  he,  "my  dear; 
it  belonged  to  my  mother,  and  afterwards  to  the  first  Lady  Binkie. 
Pretty  pearls: — never  gave  'em  the  ironmonger's  daughter.  No,  no. 
Take  'em  and  put  'em  up  quick,"  said  he,  thrusting  the  case  into 
his  daughter's  hand,  and  clapping  the  door  of  the  cabinet  to,  as 
Horrocks  entered  with  a  salver  and  refreshments. 

"  What  have  you  a  been  and  given  Pitt's  wife  ? "  said  the  indi- 
vidual in  ribbons,  when  Pitt  and  Lady  Jane  had  taken  leave  of  the 
old  gentleman.  It  was  Miss  Horrocks,  the  butler's  daughter— the 
cause  of  the  scandal  throughout  the  county — the  lady  who  reigned 
now  almost  supreme  at  Queen's  Crawley. 

The  rise  and  progress  of  those  Ribbons  had  been  marked  with 
dismay  by  the  county  and  family.  The  Ribbons  opened  an  account 
at  the  Mudbury  Branch  Savings  Bank ;  the  Ribbons  drove  to  church, 
monopolising  the  pony-chaise,  which  was  for  the  use  of  the  servants 
at  the  Hall.  The  domestics  were  dismissed  at  her  pleasure.  The 
Scotch  gardener,  who  still  lingered  on  the  premises,  taking  a  pride 
in  his  walls  and  hot-houses,  and  indeed  making  a  pretty  good  liveli- 
hood by  the  garden,  which  he  farmed,  and  of  which  he  sold  the 
produce  at  Southampton,  found  the  Ribbons  eating  peaches  on  a 
sunshiny  morning  at  the  south  wall,  and  had  his  ears  boxed  when 


^S6  VANITY   FAIR 

*  he  remonstrated  about  this  attack  on  his  property.  He  and  his 
Scotch  wife  and  his  Scotch  children,  the  only  respectable  inhabitants 
of  Queen's  Crawley,  were  forced  to  migrate,  with  their  goods  and 
their  chattels,  and  left  the  stately  comfortable  gardens  to  go  to 
waste,  and  the  flower-beds  to  run  to  seed.  Poor  Lady  Crawley's 
rose-garden  became  the  dreariest  wilderness.  Only  two  or  three 
domestics  shuddered  in  the  bleak  old  servants'  hall.  The  stables 
and  oflices  were  vacant,  and  shut  up,  and  half  ruined.  Sir  Pitt 
lived  in  private,  and  boozed  nightly  with  Horrocks,  his  butler  or 
house-steward  (as  he  now  began  to  be  called),  and  the  abandoned 
Ribbons.  The  times  were  very  much  changed  since  the  period  when 
she  drove  to  Mudbury  in  the  spring-cart,  and  called  the  small  trades- 
men "  Sir."  It  may  have  been  shame,  or  it  may  have  been  dislike 
of  his  neighbours,  but  the  old  Cynic  of  Queen's  Crawley  hardly  issued 
from  his  park-gates  at  all  now.  He  quarrelled  with  his  agents,  and 
screwed  his  tenants  by  letter.  His  days  were  passed  in  conducting 
his  own  correspondence ;  the  lawyers  and  farm-bailiffs  who  had  to 
do  business  with  him,  could  not  reach  him  but  through  the  Ribbons, 
who  received  them  at  the  door  of  the  housekeeper's  room,  which 
commanded  the  back  entrance  by  which  they  were  admitted ;  and 
so  the  Baronet's  daily  perplexities  increased,  and  his  embarrassments 
multiplied  round  him. 

The  horror  of  Pitt  Crawley  may  be  imagined,  as  these  reports 
of  his  father's  dotage  reached  the  most  exemplary  and  correct  of 
gentlemen.  He  trembled  daily  lest  he  should  hear  that  the  Ribbons 
was  proclaimed  his  second  legal  mother-in-law.  After  that  first  and 
last  visit,  his  father's  name  was  never  mentioned  in  Pitt's  polite  and 
genteel  establishment.  It  was  the  skeleton  in  his  house,  and  all  the 
family  walked  by  it  in  terror  and  silence.  The  Countess  Southdown 
kept  on  dropping  per  coach  at  the  lodge-gate  the  most  exciting  tracts, 
tracts  which  ought  to  frighten  the  hair  off  your  head.  Mrs.  Bute 
at  the  Parsonage  nightly  looked  out  to  see  if  the  sky  was  red  over 
the  elms  behind  which  the  Hall  stood,  and  the  mansion  was  on  fire. 
Sir  C  Wapshot  and  Sir  H.  Fuddlestone,  old  friends  of  the  house, 
wouldn't  sit  on  the  bench  with  Sir  Pitt  at  Quarter  Sessions,  and  cut 
him  dead  in  the  High  Street  of  Southampton,  where  the  reprobate 
stood  offering  his  dirty  old  hands  to  them.  Nothing  had  any  eftect 
upon  him  ;  he  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  burst  out  laughing, 
as  he  scrambled  into  his  carriage  and  four ;  he  used  to  burst  out 
laughing  at  Lady  Southdown's  tracts ;  and  he  laughed  at  his  sons, 
anfl  at  the  world,  and  at  the  Ribbons  when  she  was  angry,  which 
was  not  seldom. 

Miss  Horrocks  was  installed  as  housekeeper  at  Queen's  Crawley, 
and  ruled  all  the  domestics  there  with  great  majesty  and  rigour. 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  387 

All  the  servants  were  instructed  to  address  her  as  "Mum,"  or 
"  Madam  " — and  there  was  one  little  maid,  on  her  promotion,  who 
persisted  in  calling  her  "  My  Lady,"  without  any  rebuke  on  the 
part  of  the  housekeeper.  "  There  fias  been  better  ladies,  and  there 
has  been  worser,  Hester,"  wa«  Miss  Horrocks'  reply  to  this  compli- 
ment of  her  inferior :  so  she  ruled,  having  supreme  power  over  all 
except  her  father,  whom,  however,  she  treated  ^dth  considerable 
haughtiness,  warning  him  not  to  be  too  familiar  in  his  behaviour  to 
one  "as  was  to  be  a  Baronet's  lady."  Indeed,  she  rehearsed  that 
exalted  part  in  life  with  great  satisfaction  to  herself,  and  to  the 
amusement  of  old  Sir  Pitt,  who  chuckled  at  her  airs  and  graces,  and 
would  laugh  by  the  hour  together  at  her  assumptions  of  dignity  and 
imitations  of  genteel  life.  He  swore  it  was  as  good  as  a  play  to  see 
her  in  the  character  of  a  fine  dame,  and  he  made  her  put  on  one  of 
thF  first  Lady  Crawley's  Court  dresses,  swearing  (entirely  to  Miss 
Horrocks'  own  concurrence)  that  the  dress  became  her  prodigiously, 
and  threatening  to  drive  her  off  that  very  instant  to  Court  in  a 
coach-and-four.  She  had  the  ransacking  of  the  wardrobes  of  the  two 
defunct  ladies,  and  cut  and  hacked  theii  posthumous  finery  so  as  to 
suit  her  own  tastes  and  figure.  And  she  would  have  liked  to  take 
possession  of  their  jewels  and  trinkets  too ;  but  the  old  Baronet  had 
locked  them  away  in  his  private  cabinet,  nor  could  she  coax  or 
wheedle  him  out  of  the  keys.  And  it  is  a  fact,  that  some  time  after 
she  left  Queen's  Crawley  a  copy-book  belonging  to  this  lady  was 
discovered,  which  showed  that  she  had  taken  great  pains  in  private 
to  learn  the  art  of  writing  in  general,  and  especially  of  writing  her 
own  name  as  Lady  Crawley,  Lady  Betsy  Horrocks,  Lady  Elizabeth 
Crawley,  &c. 

Though  the  good  people  of  the  Parsonage  never  went  to  the 
Hall,  and  shunned  the  horrid  old  dotard  its  owner,  yet  they  kept  a 
strict  knowledge  of  all  that  happened  there,  and  were  looking  out 
every  day  for  the  catastrophe  for  which  Miss  Horrocks  was  also 
eager.  But  Fate  intervened  enviously,  and  prevented  her  from 
receiving  the  reward  due  to  such  immaculate  love  and  virtue. 

One  day  the  Baronet  surprised  "  her  Ladyship,"  as  he  jocularly 
called  her,  seated  at  that  old  and  tuneless  piano  in  the  drawing- 
room,  which  had  scarcely  been  touched  since  Becky  Sharp  played 
quadrilles  upon  it — seated  at  the  piano  with  the  utmost  gravity, 
and  squalling  to  the  best  of  her  power  in  imitation  of  the  music 
which  she  had  sometimes  heard.  The  little  kitchen-maid  on  her 
promotion  was  standing  at  her  mistress's  side,  quite  delighted  during 
the  operation,  and  wagging  her  head  up  and  down,  and  crying, 
"  Lor,  Mum,  'tis  bittiful,"— just  like  a  genteel  sycophant  in  a  real 
drawing-room. 


( 


388  VANITY   FAIR 

This  incident  made  the  old  Baronet  roar  with  laughter,  as  usual 
He  narrated  the  circumstance  a  dozen  times  to  Horrocks  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  and  greatly  to  the  discomfiture  of  Miss 
Horrocks.  He  thrummed  on  the  table  as  if  it  had  been  a  musical 
instrument,  and  squalled  in  imitation  of  her  manner  of  singing.  He 
vowed  that  such  a  beautiful  voice  ought  to  be  cultivated,  and 
declared  she  ought  to  have  singing-masters,  in  which  proposals  she 
saw  nothing  ridiculous.  He  was  in  great  spirits  that  night;  and 
drank  with  his  friend  and  butler  an  extraordinary  quantity  of  rum- 
and-water — at  a  very  late  hour  the  faithful  friend  and  domestic 
conducted  his  master  to  his  bedroom. 

Half-an-hour  afterwards  there  was  a  great  hurry  and  bustle  in 
the  house.  Lights  went  about  from  window  to  window  in  the 
lonely  desolate  old  Hall,  whereof  but  two  or  three  rooms  were 
ordinarily  occupied  by  its  owner.  Presently,  a  boy  on  a  pony  went 
galloping  off  to  Mudbury,  to  the  Doctor's  house  there.  And  in 
another  hour  (by  which  fact  we  ascertain  how  carefuUy  the  excellent 
Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  had  always  kept  up  an  understanding  with  the 
great  house),  that  lady  in  her  clogs  and  calash,  the  Reverend  Bute 
Crawley,  and  James  Crawley,  her  son,  had  walked  over  from  the 
Rectory  through  the  park,  and  had  entered  the  mansion  by  the 
open  hall  door. 

They  passed  through  the  hall  and  the  small  oak  parlour,  on  the 
table  of  which  stood  the  three  tumblers  and  the  empty  rum-bottle 
which  had  served  for  Sir  Pitt's  carouse,  and  through  that  apart- 
ment into  Sir  Pitt's  study,  where  they  found  Miss  Horrocks,  of  the 
guilty  ribbons,  with  a  wild  air,  trying  at  the  presses  and  escritoires 
with  a  bunch  of  keys.  She  dropped  them  with  a  scream  of  terror, 
as  little  Mrs.  Bute's  eyes  flashed  out  at  her  from  under  her  black 
calash. 

"  Look  at  that,  James  and  Mr.  Crawley,"  cried  Mrs.  Bute,  point- 
ing at  the  scared  figure  of  the  black-eyed,  guilty  wench. 

"  He  gave  'em  me ;  he  gave  'em  me  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Gave  them  you,  you  abandoned  creature  ! "  screamed  Mrs. 
Bute.  "  Bear  witness,  Mr.  Crawley,  we  found  this  good-for-nothing 
woman  in  the  act  of  stealing  your  brother's  property ;  and  she  will 
be  hanged,  as  I  always  said  she  would." 

Betsy  Horrocks,  quite  daunted,  flung  herself  down  on  her  knees, 
bursting  into  tears.  But  those  who  know  a  really  good  woman  are 
aware  that  she  is  not  in  a  hurry  to  forgive,  and  that  the  humiliation 
of  an  enemy  is  a  triumph  to  her  soul. 

"Ring  the  bell,  James,"  Mrs.  Bute  said.  "Go  on  ringing  it 
till  the  people  come  "     The  three  or  four  domestics  resident  in  the 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  389 

deserted  old  house  came  presently  at  that  jangling  and  continued 
summons. 

"  Put  that  woman  in  the  strong-room,"  she  said.  "  We  caught 
her  in  the  act  of  robbing  Sir  Pitt.''^  Mr.  Crawley,  you'll  make  out 
her  committal — and,  Beddoes,  you'll  drive  her  over  in  the  spring- 
cart,  in  the  morning,  to  Southampton  Gaol." 

"  My  dear,"  interposed  the  Magistrate  and  Rector — "  she's 
only " 

"Are  there  no  handcuffs?"  Mrs.  Bute  continued,  stamping  in 
her  clogs.  "There  used  to  be  handcuffs.  Where's  the  creature's 
abominable  father '? " 

"  He  did  give  'em  me,"  still  cried  poor  Betsy ;  "  didn't  he, 
Hester  ?  You  saw  Sir  Pitt — you  know  you  did — give  'em  me,  ever 
so  long  ago — the  day  after  Mudbury  fair :  not  that  I  want  'em. 
Take  'em  if  you  think  they  ain't  mine."  And  here  the  unhappy 
wretch  pulled  out  from  her  pocket  a  large  pair  of  paste  shoe-buckles 
which  had  excited  her  admiration,  and  which  she  had  just  appro- 
priated out  of  one  of  the  book-cases  in  the  study,  where  they  had  lain. 

"  Law,  Betsy,  how  could  you  go  for  to  tell  such  a  wicked  story  !  " 
said  Hester,  the  little  kitchen-maid  late  on  her  promotion — "  and  to 
Madame  Crawley,  so  good  and  kind,  and  his  Rev'rince  (with  a 
curtsey) ;  and  you  may  search  all  my  boxes.  Mum,  I'm  sui'e,  and 
here's  my  keys  as  I'm  an  honest  girl  though  of  pore  parents  and 
workhouse  bred — and  if  you  find  so  much  as  a  beggarly  bit  of  lace 
or  a  silk  stocking  out  of  all  the  gownds  as  you've  had  the  picking  of 
may  I  never  go  to  church  agin." 

"Give  up  your  keys,  you  hardened  hussy,"  hissed  out  the 
virtuous  little  lady  in  the  calash. 

"  And  here's  a  candle.  Mum,  and  if  you  please.  Mum,  I  can 
show  you  her  room.  Mum,  and  the  press  in  the  housekeeper's  room. 
Mum,  where  she  keeps  heaps  and  heaps  of  things,  Mum,"  cried  out 
the  eager  little  Hester  with  a  profusion  of  curtseys. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  if  you  please.  I  know  the  room  which  the 
creature  occupies  perfectly  well.  Mrs.  Brown,  have  the  goodness  to 
come  with  me,  and  Beddoes,  don't  you  lose  sight  of  that  woman," 
said  Mrs.  Bute,  seizing  the  candle. — "  Mr.  Crawley,  you  had  better 
go  upstairs,  and  see  that  they  are  not  murdering  your  unfortunate 
brother  " — and  the  calash,  escorted  by  Mrs.  Brown,  walked  away  to 
the  apartment  which,  as  she  said  truly,  she  knew  perfectly  well. 

Bute  went  upstairs,  and  found  the  Doctor  from  Mudbury,  with 
the  frightened  Horrocks  over  his  master  in  a  chair.  They  were 
trying  to  bleed  Sir  Pitt  Crawley. 

With  the  early  morning  an  express  was  sent  off  to  Mr.  Pitt 


\ 


396  VANITY    FAIR 

Crawley  by  the  Rector's  lady,  who  assumed  the  command  of  every- 
thing, and  had  watched  the  old  Baronet  through  the  night.  He 
had  been  brought  back  to  a  sort  of  life ;  he  could  not  speak,  but 
seemed  to  recognise  people.  Mrs.  Bute  kept  resolutely  by  his  bed- 
side. She  never  seemed  to  want  to  sleep,  that  little  woman,  and 
did  not  close  her  fiery  black  eyes  once,  though  the  Doctor  snored  in 
the  arm-chair.  Horrocks  made  some  wild  efforts  to  assert  his  autho- 
rity and  assist  his  master;  but  Mrs.  Bute  called  him  a  tipsy  old 
wretch,  and  bade  him  never  show  his  face  again  in  that  house,  or  he 
should  be  transported  like  his  abominable  daughter. 

Terrified  by  her  manner,  he  slunk  down  to  the  oak  parlour  where 
Mr.  James  was,  who,  having  tried  the  bottle  standing  there  and 
found  no  liquor  in  it,  ordered  Mr.  Horrocks  to  get  another  bottle  of 
rum,  which  he  fetched,  with  clean  glasses,  and  to  which  the  Rector 
and  his  son  sat  down :  ordering  Horrocks  to  put  down  the  keys  at 
that  instant  and  never  to  show  his  face  again. 

Cowed  by  this  behaviour,  Horrocks  gave  up  the  keys ;  and  he 
and  his  daughter  slunk  off  silently  through  the  night,  and  gave  up 
possession  of  the  house  of  Queen's  Crawley. 


^ 


CHAPTER  XL 

IN  WHICH   BECKY  IS  RECOGNISED  BY  THE  FAMILY 

THE  heir  of  Crawley  arrived  at  home,  in  due  time,  after  this 
catastrophe,  and  henceforth  may  be  said  to  have  reigned  in 
Queen's  Crawley.  For  though  the  old  Baronet  survived 
many  months,  he  never  recovered  the  use  of  his  intellect  or  his 
speech  completely,  and  the  government  of  the  estate  devolved  upon 
his  elder  son.  In  a  strange  condition  Pitt  found  it.  Sir  Pjtt  was 
always  buying  and  mortgaging ;  he  had  twenty  men  of  business,  and 
quarrels  with  each ;  quarrels  with  all  his  tenants,  and  lawsuits  with 
them ;  lawsuits  with  the  lawyers ;  lawsuits  with  the  Mining  and 
Dock  Companies  in  which  he  was  proprietor ;  and  with  every  person 
with  whom  he  had  business.  To  unravel  these  difficulties,  and  to 
set  the  estate  clear,  was  a  task  worthy  of  the  orderly  and  persevering 
diplomatist  of  Pumpernickel :  and  he  set  himself  to  work  with 
prodigious  assiduity.  His  whole  family,  of  course,  was  transported 
to  Queen's  Crawley,  whither  Lady  Southdown,  of  course,  came  too ; 
and  she  set  about  converting  the  parish  under  the  Rector's  nose,  and 
brought  down  her  irregular  clergy  to  the  dismay  of  the  angry  Mrs. 
Bute.  Sir  Pitt  had  concluded  no  bargain  for  the  sale  of  the  living 
of  Queen's  Crawley ;  when  it  should  drop,  her  Ladyship  proposed  to 
take  the  patronage  into  her  own  hands,  and  present  a  young  prot^g^ 
to  the  Rectory ;  on  which  subject  the  diplomatic  Pitt  said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Bute's  intentions  with  regard  to  Miss  Betsy  Horrocks  were 
not  carried  into  effect :  and  she  paid  no  visit  to  Southampton  Gaol. 
She  and  her  father  left  the  Hall,  when  the  latter  took  possession  of 
the  Crawley  Arms  in  the  village,  of  which  he  had  got  a  lease  from 
Sir  Pitt.  The  ex-butler  had  obtained  a  small  freehold  there  like- 
wise, which  gave  him  a  vote  for  the  borough.  The  Rector  had 
another  of  these  votes,  and  these  and  four  others  formed  the  re- 
presentative body  which  returned  the  two  members  for  Queen's 
Crawley. 

There  was  a  show  of  courtesy  kept  up  between  the  Rectory 
and  the  Hall  ladies,  between  the  younger  ones  at  least,  for  Mrs. 
Bute  and  Lady  Southdown  never  could  meet  without  battles,  and 
gradually  ceased  seeing  each  other.     Her  Ladyship  kept  her  room 


392  VANITY   FAIR 

when  the  ladies  from  the  Rectory  visited  their  cousins  at  the  HalL 
Perhaps  Mr.  Pitt  was  not  very  much  displeased  at  these  occasional 
absences  of  his  mamma-in-law.  He  believed  the  Binkie  family  to 
be  the  greatest  and  wisest,  and  most  interesting  in  the  world,  and 
her  Ladyship  and  his  aunt  had  long  held  ascendency  over  him ;  but 
sometimes  he  felt  that  she  commanded  him  too  much.  To  be  con- 
sidered young  was  complimentary  doubtless  ;  but  at  six-and-forty  to 
be  treated  as  a  boy  was  sometimes  mortifying.  Lady  Jane  yielded 
up  everything,  however,  to  her  mother.  She  was  only  fond  of  her 
children  in  private;  and  it  was  lucky  for  her  that  Lady  South- 
down's  multifarious  business,  her  conferences  with  ministers,  and 
her  correspondence  with  all  the  missionaries  of  Africa,  Asia, 
Australasia,  &c.,  occupied  the  venerable  Countess  a  great  deal,  so 
that  she  had  but  Uttle  time  to  devote  to  her  granddaughter,  the 
little  Matilda,  and  her  grandson.  Master  Pitt  Crawley.  The  latter 
was  a.  feeble  child :  and  it  was  only  by  prodigious  quantities  of 
calomel  that  Lady  Southdown  was  able  to  keep  him  in  life  at  all. 

As  for  Sir  Pitt,  he  retired  into  those  very  apartments  where 
Lady  Crawley  had  been  previously  extinguished,  and  here  was 
tended  by  Miss  Hester,  the  girl  upon  her  promotion,  with  constant 
rcare  and  assiduity.  What  love,  what  fidelity,  what  constancy  is 
^ there  equal  to  that  of  a  nurse  with  good  wages'?  They  smooth 
pillows :  and  make  arrowroot :  they  get  up  at  nights :  they  bear 
complaints  and  querulousness  :  they  see  the  sun  shining  out  of  doors 
and  don't  want  to  go  abroad  :  they  sleep  on  arm-chairs,  and  eat  their 
meals  in  solitude  :  they  pass  long  long  evenings  doing  nothing,  watch- 
ing the  embers,  and  the  patient's  drink  simmering  in  the  jug :  they 
read  the  weekly  paper  the  whole  week  through ;  and  Law's  Serious 
Call  or  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man  suffices  them  for  literature  for  the 
year — and  we  quarrel  with  them  because,  when  their  relations  come 
to  see  them  once  a  week,  a  little  gin  is  smuggled  in  in  their  Hnen 
basket.  Ladies,  what  man's  love  is  there  that  would  stand  a  year's 
nursing  of  the  object  of  his  affection  1  Whereas  a  nurse  will  stand 
by  you  for  ten  pounds  a  quarter,  and  we  think  her  too  highly  paid. 
At  least  Mr.  Crawley  grumbled  a  good  deal  about  paying  half  as 
much  to  Miss  Hester  for  her  constant  attendance  upon  the  Baronet 
his  father. 

Of  sunshiny  days  this  old  gentleman  was  taken  out  in  a  chair 
on  the  terrace — the  very  chair  which  Miss  Crawley  had  had  at 
Brighton,  and  which  had  been  transported  thence  with  a  number 
of  Lady  Southdown's  effects  to  Queen's  Crawley.  Lady  Jane 
always  walked  by  the  old  man ;  and  was  an  evident  favourite  with 
him.  He  used  to  nod  many  times  to  her  and  smile  when  she  came 
in,  and  utter  inarticulate  deprecatory  moans  when  she  was  going 


PITT  S    LAST   STAGE. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  393 

away.  When  the  door  shut  upon  her  he  would  cry  and  sob — 
whereupon  Hester's  face  and  manner,  which  was  always  exceedingly 
bland  and  gentle  while  her  lady  was  present,  would  change  at  once, 
and  she  would  make  faces  at  hinl^and  clench  her  fist,  and  scream 
out,  "  Hold  your  tongue,  you  stoopid  old  fool,"  and  twirl  away  his 
chair  from  the  fire  which  he  loved  to  look  at — at  which  he  would 
cry  more.  For  this  was  all  that  was  left  after  more  than  seven 
years  of  cunning  and  struggling,  and  drinking,  and  scheming 
sin  and  selfishness — a  whimpering  old  idiot  put  in  and  out 
and  cleaned  and  fed  like  a  baby. 

At  last  a  day  came  when  the  nurse's  occupation  was  over. 
Early  one  morning,  as  Pitt  Crawley  was  at  his  steward's  and  bailiffs 
books  in  the  study,  a  knock  came  to  the  door,  and  Hester  presented 
herself  dropping  a  curtsey,  and  said — 

"  If  you  please.  Sir  Pitt,  Sir  Pitt  died  this  morning,  Sir  Pitt. 
I  was  a-making  of  his  toast,  Sir  Pitt,  for  his  gruel.  Sir  Pitt,  which 
he  took  every  morning  regular  at  six.  Sir  Pitt,  and — I  thought  I 

heard  a  moan-like.  Sir  Pitt — and — and — and "     She  dropped 

another  curtsey. 

What  was  it  that  made  Pitt's  pale  face  flush  quite  red  ?  Was" 
it  because  he  was  Sir  Pitt  at  last,  with  a  seat  in  Parliament,  and 
perhaps  future  honours  in  prospect?  "I'll  clear  the  estate  now 
with  the  ready  money,"  he  thought,  and  rapidly  calculated  its  in- 
cumbrances and  the  improvements  which  he  would  make.  He 
would  not  use  his  aunt's  money  previously  lest  Sir  Pitt  should 
recover,  and  his  outlay  be  in  vain. 

All  the  bhnds  were  pulled  down  at  the  Hall  and  Rectory :  the 
church  bell  was  tolled,  and  the  chancel  hung  in  black ;  and  Bute 
Crawley  didn't  go  to  a  coursing  meeting,  but  went  and  dined  quietly 
at  Fuddleston,  where  they  talked  about  his  deceased  brother  and 
young  Sir  Pitt  over  their  port.  Miss  Betsy,  who  was  by  this  time 
married  to  a  saddler  at  Mudbury,  cried  a  good  deal.  The  family 
surgeon  rode  over  and  paid  his  respectful  compliments,  and  inquiries 
for  the  health  of  their  ladyships.  The  death  was  talked  about  at 
Mudbury  and  at  the  Crawley  Arms;  the  landlord  whereof  had 
become  reconciled  with  the  Rector  of  late,  who  was  occasionally 
known  to  step  into  the  parlour  and  taste  Mr.  Horrocks'  mild  beer. 

"Shall  I  write  to  your  brother — or  will  you?"  asked  Lady 
Jane  of  her  husband.  Sir  Pitt. 

"  I  will  write,  of  course,"  Sir  Pitt  said,  "  and  invite  him  to  the 
ftmeral :  it  will  be  but  becoming." 

"And — and — Mrs.  Rawdon,"  said  Lady  Jane  timidly. 

"  Jane  !  "  said  Lady  Southdown,  "  how  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing?" 


would  V 
eventy  \/ 
g,  and  /\ 
of  bed  /     \ 


394  VANITY    FAIR 

"Mrs.  Rawdon  must  of  course  be  asked,"  said  Sir  Pitt 
resolutely. 

"  Not  whilst  /  am  in  the  house  !  "  said  Lady  Southdown. 

"  Your  Ladyship  will  be  pleased  to  recollect  that  I  am  the  head 
of  this  family,"  Sir  Pitt  replied.  "  If  you  please,  Lady  Jane,  you 
will  write  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  requesting  her  presence 
upon  this  melancholy  occasion." 

"  Jane,  I  forbid  you  to  put  pen  to  paper  !  "  cried  the  Countess. 

"  I  believe  I  am  the  head  of  this  family,"  Sir  Pitt  repeated ; 
"  and  however  much  I  may  regret  any  circumstance  which  may  lead 
to  your  Ladyship  quitting  this  house,  must,  if  you  please,  continue 
to  govern  it  as  I  see  fit." 

Lady  Southdown  rose  up  as  magnificent  as  Mrs.  Siddons  in 
Lady  Macbeth,  and  ordered  that  horses  might  be  put  to  her  carriage. 
If  her  son  and  daughter  turned  her  out  of  their  house,  she  would 
hide  her  sorrows  somewhere  in  loneliness,  and  pray  for  their  conver- 
sion to  better  thoughts. 

"  We  don't  turn  you  out  of  our  house,  mamma,"  said  the  timid 
Lady  Jane  imploringly. 

"  You  invite  such  company  to  it  as  no  Christian  lady  should 
meet,  and  I  will  have  my  horses  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  write,  Jane,  under  my  dictation,"  said 
Sir  Pitt,  rising,  and  throwing  himself  into  an  attitude  of  command, 
like  the  portrait  of  a  Gentleman  in  the  Exhibition,  "  and  begin : 
'Queen's  Crawley,  September  14,  1822.— My  dear  brother '" 

Hearing  these  decisive  and  terrible  words.  Lady  Macbeth,  who 
had  been  waiting  for  a  sign  of  weakness  or  vacillation  on  the  part  of 
her  son-in-law,  rose,  and  with  a  scared  look,  left  the  library.  Lady 
Jane  looked  up  to  her  husband  as  if  she  would  fain  follow  and 
soothe  her  mamma :  but  Pitt  forbade  his  wife  to  move. 

"She  won't  go  away,"  he  said.  "She  has  let  her  house  at 
Brighton,  and  has  spent  her  last  half-year's  dividends.  A  Countess 
living  at  an  inn  is  a  ruined  woman.  I  have  been  waiting  long  for 
an  opportunity  to  take  this — this  decisive  step,  my  love ;  for,  as 
you  must  perceive,  it  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  two  chiefs 
in  a  family :  and  now,  if  you  please,  we  will  resume  the  dictation. 
'  My  dear  brother,  the  melancholy  intelligence  which  it  is  my  duty 
to  convey  to  my  family  must  have  been  long  anticipated  by,' "  &c. 

In  a  word,  Pitt  having  come  to  his  kingdom,  and  having  by 
good  luck,  or  desert  rather,  as  he  considered,  assumed  almost  all  the 
fortune  with  his  other  relatives  had  expected,  was  determined  to 
treat  his  family  kindly  and  respectably,  and  make  a  house  of  Queen's 
Crawley  once  more.  It  pleased  him  to  think  that  he  should  be  its 
chief.     He  proposed  to  use  the  vast  influence  that  his  commanding 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  395 

talents  and  position  must  speedily  acquire  for  him  in  the  country  to 
get  his  brother  placed  and  his  cousins  decently  provided  for,  and 
perhaps  had  a  little  sting  of  repentance  as  he  thought  that  he  was 
the  proprietor  of  all  that  they  had  hoped  for.  In  the  course  of 
three  or  four  days'  reign  his  bearing  was  changed,  and  his  plans 
quite  fixed :  he  determined  to  rule  justly  and  honestly,  to  depose 
Lady  Southdown,  and  to  be  on  the  friendliest  possible  terms  with 
all  the  relations  of  his  blood. 

So  he  dictated  a  letter  to  his  brother  Rawdon — a  solemn  and 
elaborate  letter,  containing  the  profoundest  observations,  couched 
in  the  longest  words,  and  filling  with  wonder  the  simple  little 
secretary,  who  wrote  under  her  husband's  order.  "  What  an  orator 
this  will  be,"  thought  she,  "  when  he  enters  the  House  of  Commons  " 
(on  which  point,  and  on  the  tyranny  of  Lady  Southdown,  Pitt  had 
sometimes  dropped  hints  to  his  wife  in  bed) ;  "  how  wise  and  good, 
and  what  a  genius  my  husband  is  !  I  fancied  him  a  little  cold ;  but 
how  good,  and  what  a  genius  ! " 

The  fact  is,  Pitt  Crawley  had  got  every  word  of  the  letter  by 
heart  and  had  studied  it,  with  diplomatic  secrecy,  deeply  and  per- 
fectly, long  before  he  thought  fit  to  communicate  it  to  his  astonished 
wife. 

This  letter,  with  a  huge  black  border  and  seal,  was  accordingly 
despatched  by  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  to  his  brother  the  Colonel,  in 
London.  Rawdon  Crawley  was  but  half-pleased  at  the  receipt  of  it. 
"  What's  the  use  of  going  down  to  that  stupid  place  ? "  thought  he. 
"  I  can't  stand  being  alone  with  Pitt  after  dinner,  and  horses  there 
and  back  will  cost  us  twenty  poimd." 

He  carried  the  letter,  as  he  did  all  difficulties,  to  Becky,  upstairs 
in  her  bedroom — with  her  chocolate,  which  he  always  made  and 
took  to  her  of  a  morning. 

He  put  the  tray  with  the  breakfast  and  the  letter  on  the  dressing- 
table,  before  which  Becky  sate  combing  her  yellow  hair.  She  took 
up  the  black-edged  missive,  and  having  read  it,  she  jumped  up  fi:om 
the  chair,  crying  "  Hurray  ! "  and  waving  the  note  round  her  head. 

"  Hurray  1 "  said  Rawdon,  wondering  at  the  little  figure  capering 
about  in  a  streaming  flannel  dressing-gown,  with  tawny  locks  dishe- 
velled. "  He's  not  left  us  anything,  Becky.  I  had  my  share  when 
I  came  of  age." 

"You'll  never  be  of  age,  you  silly  old  man,"  Becky  replied. 
"  Run  out  now  to  Madame  Brunoy's,  for  I  must  have  some  mourn- 
ing :  and  get  a  crape  on  your  hat  and  a  black  waistcoat — I  don't 
think  you've  got  one :  order  it  to  be  brought  home  to-morrow,  so 
that  we  may  be  able  to  start  on  Thursday." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  go  ? "  Rawdon  interposed. 


^96  VAKITY    FAIR 

"  Of  course  I  mean  to  go.  I  mean  that  Lady  Jane  shall  present 
me  at  Court  next  year.  I  mean  that  your  brother  shall  give  you  a 
seat  in  Parliament,  you  stupid  old  creature.  I  mean  that  Lord 
Steyne  shall  have  your  vote  and  his,  my  dear  old  silly  man ;  and 
that  you  shall  be  an  Irish  Secretary,  or  a  West  Indian  Governor  :  or 
a  Treasurer,  or  a  Consul,  or  some  such  thing." 

"  Posting  will  cost  a  dooce  of  a  lot  of  money,"  grumbled  Rawdon. 

"We  might  take  Southdown's  carriage,  which  ought  to  be 
present  at  the  funeral,  as  he  is  a  relation  of  the  family  :  but,  no — I 
intend  that  we  shall  go  by  the  coach.  They'll  like  it  better.  It 
seems  more  humble " 

"  Rawdy  goes,  of  course  1 "  the  Colonel  asked. 

"No  such  thing;  why  pay  an  extra  place?  He's  too  big  to 
travel  bodkin  between  you  and  me.  Let  him  stay  here  in  the 
nursery,  and  Briggs  can  make  him  a  black  frock.  Go  you :  and  do 
as  I  bid  you.  And  you  had  best  tell  Sparks,  your  man,  that  old 
Sir  Pitt  is  dead,  and  that  you  will  come  in  for  something  considerable 
when  the  affairs  are  arranged.  He'll  tell  this  to  Raggles,  who  has 
been  pressing  for  money,  and  it  will  console  poor  Raggles."  And  so 
Becky  began  sipping  her  chocolate. 

When  the  faithful  Lord  Steyne  arrived  in  the  evening,  he  found 
Becky  and  her  companion,  who  was  no  other  than  our  friend  Briggs, 
busy  cutting,  ripping,  snipping,  and  tearing  all  sorts  of  black  stuffs 
available  for  the  melancholy  occasion. 

"Miss  Briggs  and  I  are  plunged  in  grief  and  despondency  for 
the  death  of  our  papa,"  Rebecca  said.  "  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  is  dead, 
my  Lord.  We  have  been  tearing  our  hair  all  the  morning,  and  now 
we  are  tearing  up  our  old  clothes." 

"  Oh,  Rebecca,  how  can  you — "  was  all  that  Briggs  could  say  as 
she  turned  up  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Rebecca,  how  can  you — "  echoed  my  Lord.  "So  that 
old  scoundrel's  dead,  is  he  1  He  might  have  been  a  Peer  if  he  had 
played  his  cards  better.  Mr.  Pitt  had  very  nearly  made  him ;  but 
he  ratted  always  at  the  wrong  time.    What  an  old  Silenus  it  was  ! " 

"  I  might  have  been  Silenus's  widow,"  said  Rebecca.     "  Don't 

you  remember.  Miss  Briggs,  how  you  peeped  in  at  the  door,  and  saw 

old  Sir  Pitt  on  his  knees  to  me*?"     Miss  Briggs,  our  old  friend, 

blushed  very  much  at  this  reminiscence ;  and  was  glad  when  Lord 

C-'        Steyne  ordered  her  to  go  downstairs  and  make  him  a  cup  of  tea. 

Briggs  was  the  house-dog  whom  Rebecca  had  provided  as  guardian 
of  her  innocence  and  reputation.  Miss  Crawley  had  left  her  a  little 
annuity.  She  would  have  been  content  to  remain  in  the  Crawley 
femily  with  Lady  Jane,  who  was  good  to  her  and  to  everybody ;  but 


o 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO  397 

Lady  Southdown  dismissed  poor  Briggs  as  quickly  as  decency  per- 
mitted; and  Mr.  Pitt  (who  thought  himself  much  injured  by  the 
uncalled-for  generosity  of  his  deceased  relative  towards  a  lady  who 
had  only  been  Miss  Crawley's  faithftil  retainer  a  score  of  years)  made 
no  objection  to  that  exercise  of  the  Dowager's  authority.  Bowls 
and  Firkin  likewise  received  their  legacies,  and  their  dismissals; 
and  married  and  set  up  a  lodging-house,  according  to  the  custom 
of  theu-  kind. 

Briggs  tried  to  live  with  her  relations  in  the  country,  but  found 
that  attempt  was  vain  after  the  better  society  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed.  Briggs's  friends,  small  tradesmen,  in  a  country  town, 
quarrelled  over  Miss  Briggs's  forty  pounds  a  year,  as  eagerly  and  / 
more  openly  than  Miss  Crawley's  kinsfolk  had  for  that  lady's  inheri- 
tance. Briggs's  brother,  a  radical  hatter  and  grocer,  called  his  sister 
a  purse-proud  aristocrat,  because  she  would  not  advance  a  part  0^ 
her  capital  to  stock  his  shop :  and  she  would  have  done  so  most 
likely,  but  that  their  sister,  a  dissenting  shoemaker's  lady,  at  variance 
with  the  hatter  and  grocer,  who  went  to  another  chapel,  showed  how 
their  brother  was  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  and  took  possession  of 
Briggs  for  a  while.  The  dissenting  shoemaker  wanted  Miss  [Briggs 
to  send  his  son  to  college,  and  make  a  gentleman  of  him.  Between 
them  the  two  families  got  a  great  portion  of  her  private  savilgs  out 
of  her :  and  finally  she  fled  to  London  followed  by  the  anihemas 
of  both,  and  determined  to  seek  for  servitude  again  as  infinitely 
less  onerous  than  liberty.  And  advertising  in  the  papers  that  a 
"  Gentlewoman  of  agreeable  manners,  and  accustomed  to  the  best 
society,  was  anxious  to,"  &c.,  she  took  up  her  residence  with 
Mr.  Bowls  in  Half  Moon  Street,  and  waited  the.  result  of  the 
advertisement.  | 

So  it  was  that  she  fell  in  with  Rebecca.    Mrs.  Rawdon's  dashing 
little  carriage  and  ponies  was  whirling  down  the  street  one  day,  just 
as  Miss  Briggs,  fatigued,  had  reached  Mr.  Bowls's  door,  after  a  weary 
walk  to  the  Tirnes  office  in  the  City,  to  insert  her  advertisement  for 
the  sixth  time.     Rebecca  was  driving,  and  at  once  recognised  the\ 
gentlewoman  with  agreeable  manners,  and  being  a  perfectly  good-  ) 
humoured  woman,  aa  we  have  seen,  and  having  a  regard  for  Briggs,  / 
she  pulled  up  the  ponies  at  the  doorsteps,  gave  the  reins  to  the 
groom,  and  jumping  out,  had  hold  of  both  Briggs's  hands,  before  she 
of  the  agreeable  manners  had  recovered  from  the  shock  of  seeing 
an  old  friend. 

Briggs  cried,  and  Becky  laughed  a  great  deal,  and  kissed  the 
gentlewoman  as  soon  as  they  got  into  the  passage ;  and  thence  into 
Mrs.  Bowls's  front  parlour,  Mrith  the  red  moreen  curtains,  and  the 
round  looking-glass,  with  the  chained  eagle  above,  gazing  upon  the 


398  VANITY    FAIR 

back  of  the  ticket  in  the  window  which  announced  "  Apartments 
to  Let." 

Briggs  told  all  her  history  amidst  those  perfectly  uncalled-for 
sobs  and  ejaculations  of  wonder  with  which  women  of  her  soft  nature 
salute  an  old  acquaintance,  or  regard  a  rencontre  in  the  street ;  for 
though  people  meet  other  people  every  day,  yet  some  there  are  who 
insist  upon  discovering  miracles ;  and  women,  even  though  they  have 
disliked  each  other,  begin  to  cry  when  they  meet,  deploring  and 
remembering  the  time  when  they  last  quarrelled.  So,  in  a  word, 
Briggs  told  all  her  history,  and  Becky  gave  a  narrative  of  her  own 
life,  with  her  usual  artlessness  and  candour. 

Mrs.  Bowls,  late  Firkin,  came  and  listened  grimly  in  the  passage 
to  the  hysterical  sniffling  and  giggling  which  went  on  in  the  front 
parlour.  Becky  had  never  been  a  favourite  of  hers.  Since  the 
establishment  of  the  married  couple  in  London  they  had  frequented 
their  former  friends  of  the  house  of  Raggles,  and  did  not  like  the 
latter's  account  of  the  Colonel's  manage.  "  /  wouldn't  trust  him, 
Ragg,  my  boy,"  Bowls  remarked  :  and  his  wife,  when  Mrs.  Rawdon 
issued  from  the  parlour,  only  saluted  the  lady  with  a  very  sour 
curtsey ;  and  her  fingers  were  like  so  many  sausages,  cold  and  life- 
less, when  she  held  them  out  in  deference  to  Mrs.  Rawdon,  who 
persisted  in  shaking  hands  with  the  retired  lady's  maid.  She 
whirled  away  into  Piccadilly,  nodding  with  the  sweetest  of  smiles 
towards  Miss  Briggs,  who  hung  nodding  at  the  window  close  under 
the  advertisement-card,  and  at  the  next  moment  was  in  the  Park 
with  a  half-dozen  of  dandies  cantering  after  her  carriage. 

When  she  found  how  her  friend  was  situated,  and  how  having 
a  snug  legacy  from  Miss  Crawley,  salary  was  no  object  to  our  gentle- 
woman, Becky  instantly  formed  some  benevolent  little  domestic  plans 
concerning  her.  This  was  just  such  a  companion  as  would  suit  her 
establishment,  and  she  invited  Briggs  to  come  to  dinner  with  her 
that  very  evening,  when  she  should  see  Becky's  dear  little  darhng 
Rawdon. 

Mrs.  Bowls  cautioned  her  lodger  against  venturing  into  the  lion's 
den,  "  wherein  you  will  rue  it.  Miss  B.,  mark  my  words,  and  as  sm-e 
as  my  name  is  Bowls."  And  Briggs  promised  to  be  very  cautious. 
The  upshot  of  which  caution  was  that  she  went  to  live  with  Mrs. 
Rawdon  the  next  week,  and  had  lent  Rawdon  Crawley  six  hundred 
pounds  upon  annuity  before  six  months  were  over. 


y 


CHAPTER  XLI 

/AT  WHICH  BECKY  REVISITS   THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS 

SO  the  mourning  being  ready,  and  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  warned  of 
their  arrival,  Colonel  Crawley  and  his  wife  took  a  couple  of 
places  in  the  same  old  Highflyer  coach,  by  which  Rebecca  had 
travelled  in  the  defunct  Baronet's  company,  on  her  first  journey  into 
the  world  some  nine  years  before.  How  well  she  remembered  the 
inn  yard,  and  the  ostler  to  whom  she  refused  money,  and  the  in- 
sinuating Cambridge  lad  who  wrapped  her  in  his  coat  on  the  journey  ! 
Rawdon  took  his  place  outside,  and  would  have  liked  to  drive,  but 
his  grief  forbade  him.  He  sat  by  the  coachman,  and  talked  about 
horses  and  the  road  the  whole  way ;  and  who  kept  the  inns,  and 
who  horsed  the  coach  by  which  he  had  travelled  so  many  a  time, 
when  he  and  Pitt  were  boys  going  to  Eton.  At  Mudbury  a  carriage 
and  a  pair  of  horses  received  them,  with  a  coachman  in  black.  "  It's 
the  ohl  drag,  Rawdon,"  Rebecca  said,  as  they  got  in.  "  The  worms 
have  eaten  the  cloth  a  good  deal — there's  the  stain  which  Sir  Pitt — 
Jia !  I  see  Dawson  the  ironmonger  has  his  shutters  up — which  Sir 
Pitt  made  such  a  noise  about.  It  was  a  bottle  of  cherry  brandy  he 
broke  which  we  went  to  fetch  for  your  aunt  from  Southampton. 
How  time  flies,  to  be  sure  !  that  can't  be  Polly  Talboys,  that  bounc- 
ing girl  standing  by  her  mother  at  the  cottage  there.  I  remember 
her  a  mangy  little  urchin  picking  weeds  in  the  garden." 

"  Fine  gal,"  said  Rawdon,  returning  the  salute  which  the  cottage 

gave  him,  by  two  fingers  applied  to  his  crape  hat-band.      Becky 

bowed  and  saluted,  and  recognised  people  here  and  there  graciously. 

These  recognitions  were  inexpressibly  pleasant  to  her.     It  seemed 

'^_a.s  if  she  was  not  an  impostor  any  more,  and  was  coming  to  the  home_ 

i  of  her  ancestors.     Rawdon  was  rather  abashed,  and  cast  down  on 

tEe  other  hand.     What  recollections  of  boyhood  and  innocence  might 

'  have  been  flitting  across  his  brain?     What  pangs  of  dim  remorse 

and  doubt  and  shame  1 

"  Your  sisters  must  be  young  women  now,"  Rebecca  said,  thinking 
of  those  girls  for  the  first  time  perhaps  since  she  had  left  them. 

"  Don't  know,  I'm  shaw,"  replied  the  Colonel.     "  Hullo  !  here's 
old  Mother  Lock.     How-dy-do,  Mrs.  LockV     Remember  me,  don't 


( 


( 


400  VANITY    FAIR 

you  ?  Master  Rawdon,  hey  ?  Dammy,  how  those  old  women  last ; 
she  was  a  hundred  when  I  was  a  boy." 

They  were  going  through  the  lodge-gates  kept  by  old  Mrs.  Lock, 
whose  hand  Rebecca  insisted  upon  shaking,  as  she  flung  open  the 
creaking  old  iron  gate,  and  the  carriage  passed  between  the  two 
moss-growTi  pillars  surmounted  by  the  dove  and  serpent, 

"  The  governor  has  cut  into  the  timber,"  Rawdon  said,  looking 
about,  and  then  was  silent — so  was  Becky.  Both  of  them  were 
rather  agitated,  and  thinking  of  old  times.  He  about  Eton,  and  his 
mother,  whom  he  remembered,  a  frigid  demure  woman,  and  a  sister 
who  died,  of  whom  he  had  been  passionately  fond ;  and  how  he 
used  to  thrash  Pitt ;  and  about  little  Rawdy  at  home.  And  Rebecca 
thought  about  her  own  youth,  and  the  dark  secrets  of  those  early 
tainted  days ;  and  of  her  entrance  into  life  by  yonder  gates ;  and  of 
Miss  Pinkerton,  and  Joe,  and  Amelia. 

The  gravel  walk  and  terrace  had  been  scraped  quite  clean.  A 
grand  painted  hatchment  was  already  over  the  great  entrance,  and 
two  very  solemn  and  tall  personages  in  black  flung  open  each  a  leaf 
of  the  door  as  the  carriage  pulled  up  at  the  familiar  steps.  Rawdon 
turned  red,  and  Becky  somewhat  pale,  as  they  passed  through  the 
old  hall  arm-in-arm.  She  pinched  her  husband's  arm  as  they  entered 
the  oak  parlour,  where  Sir  Pitt  and  his  wife  were  ready  to  receive 
them.  Sir  Pitt  in  black.  Lady  Jane  in  black,  and  my  Lady  South- 
down with  a  large  black  head-piece  of  bugles  and  feathers,  which 
waved  on  her  Ladyship's  head  like  an  undertaker's  tray. 

Sir  Pitt  had  judged  correctly,  that  she  would  not  quit  the 
premises.  She  contented  herself  by  preserving  a  solemn  and  stony 
silence,  when  in  company  of  Pitt  and  his  rebellious  wife,  and  by 
frightening  the  children  in  the  nursery  by  the  ghastly  gloom  of  her 
demeanour.  Only  a  very  faint  bending  of  the  head-dress  and  plumes 
welcomed  Rawdon  and  his  wife,  as  those  prodigals  returned  to  their 
family. 

To  say  the  truth,  they  were  not  affected  very  much  one  way 
or  other  by  this  coolness.  Her  Ladyship  was  a  person  only  of 
secondary  consideration  in  their  minds  just  then — they  were  intent 
upon  the  reception  which  the  reigning  brother  and  sister  would 
afford  them. 

Pitt,  with  rather  a  heightened  colour,  went  up  and  shook  his 
brother  by  the  hand,  and  saluted  Rebecca  with  a  hand-shake  and  a 
very  low  bow.  But  Lady  Jane  tookJ)oth  the  hands  of  her  sister-in- 
law,  and  kissed  her  affectionately.  IThe  embrace  somehow  brought 
.  tears  into  the  eyes  of  the  little  adventuress — which  ornaments,  as 
I  we  know,  she  wore  very  seldom.  The  artless  mark  of  kindness  and 
confidence  touched  and  pleased  her;  and  Rawdon,  encouraged  by 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  401 

this  demonstration  on  his  sister's  part,  twirled  up  his  mustachios, 
and  took  leave  to  salute  Lady  Jane  with  a  kiss,  which  caused  her 
Ladyship  to  blush  exceedingly. 

"  Dev'lish  nice  little  woman,  JE^ady  Jane,"  was  his  verdict,  when 
he  and  his  wife  were  together  again.  "  Pitt's  got  fat,  too,  and  is 
doing  the  thing  handsomely." 

"  He  can  afford  it,"  said  Rebecca,  and  agreed  in  her  husband's 
further  opinion,  "  that  the  mother-iii-law  was  a  tremendous  old  guy 
— a,nd  that  the  sisters  were  rather  well-looking  young  women." 

They,  too,  had  been  summoned  from  school  to  attend  the  funeral 
ceremonies.  It  seemed  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  for  the  dignity  of  the  house 
and  family,  had  thought  right  to  have  about  the  place  as  many 
persons  in  black  as  could  possibly  be  assembled.  All  the  men  and 
maids  of  the  house,  the  old  women  of  the  Almshouse,  whom  the 
elder  Sir  Pitt  had  cheated  out  of  a  great  portion  of  their  due,  the 
Parish  Clerk's  family,  and  the  special  retainers  of  both  Hall  and 
Rectory,  were  habited  in  sable ;  added  to  these,  the  undertaker's 
men,  at  least  a  score,  with  crapes  and  hat-bands,  and  who  made  a 
goodly  show  when  the  great  burying  show  took  place — but  these  are 
mute  personages  in  our  drama ;  and  having  nothing  to  do  or  say, 
need  occupy  a  very  little  space  here. 

With  regard  to  her  sisters-in-law  Rebecca  did  not  attempt  to 
forget  her  former  position  of  governess  towards  them,  but  recalled 
it  frankly  and  kindly,  and  asked  them  about  their  studies  with  great 
gravity,  and  told  them  that  she  had  thought  of  them  many  and 
many  a  day,  and  longed  to  know  of  their  welfare.  In  fact  you 
would  have  supposed  that  ever  since  she  had  left  them  she  had  not 
ceased  to  keep  them  uppermost  in  her  thoughts,  and  to  take  the 
tenderest  interest  in  their  welfare.  So  supposed  Lady  Crawley 
herself  and  her  young  sisters. 

"  She's  hardly  changed  since  eight  years,"  said  Miss  Rosalind 
to  Miss  Violet,  as  they  were  preparing  for  dinner. 

"  Those  red-haired  women  look  wonderfully  well,"  replied  the 
other. 

"  Hers  is  much  darker  than  it  was ;  I  think  she  must  -dye  it," 
Miss  Rosalind  added.  "  She  is  stouter  too,  and  altogether  improved," 
continued  Miss  Rosalind,  who  was  disposed  to  be  very  fat. 

"  At  least  she  gives  herself  no  airs,  and  remembers  that  she  was 
our  governess  once,"  Miss  Violet  said,  intimating  that  it  befitted  all 
governesses  to  keep  their  proper  place,  and  forgetting  altogether  that 
she  was  granddaughter  not  only  of  Sir  Walpole  Crawley,  but  of  Mr. 
Dawson  of  Mudbury,  and  so  had  a  coal-scuttle  in  her  scutcheon 
There  are  other  very  well-meaning  people  whom  one  meets  every 
day  in  Vanity  Fair,  who  are  surely  equally  oblivious. 


^3 


402  VANITY    FAIR 

"  It  can't  be  true  what  the  girls  at  the  Rectory  said,  that  her 
mother  was  an  opera-dancer " 

"  A  person  can't  help  their  birth,"  Rosalind  replied  with  great 
liberality.  "  And  I  agree  with  our  brother,  that  as  she  is  in  the 
family,  of  course  we  are  bound  to  notice  her.  I  am  sure  Aunt  Bute 
need  not  talk  :  she  wants  to  marry  Kate  to  young  Hooper,  the  wine- 
merchant,  and  absolutely  asked  him  to  come  to  the  Rectory  for  orders." 

"  I  wonder  whether  Lady  Southdown  will  go  away  ;  she  looked 
very  glum  upon  Mrs.  Rawdon,"  the  other  said. 

"I  wish  she  would.  /  won't  read  the  'Washerwoman  of 
Finchley  Common,'"  vowed  Violet;  and  so  saying,  and  avoiding 
a  passage  at  the  end  of  which  a  certain  coffin  was  placed  with  a 
couple  of  watchers,  and  lights  perpetually  burning  in  the  closed 
room,  these  young  women  came  down  to  the  family  dinner,  for 
which  the  bell  rang  as  usual. 

But  before  this.  Lady  Jane  conducted  Rebecca  to  the  apartments 
prepared  for  her,  which,  with  the  rest  of  the  house,  had  assumed 
a  very  much  improved  appearance  of  order  and  comfort  during  Pitt's 
regency,  and  here  beholding  that  Mrs.  Rawdon's  modest  little  trunks 
had  arrived,  and  were  placed  in  the  bedroom  and  dressing-room 
adjoining,  helped  her  to  take  off  her  neat  black  bonnet  and  cloak, 
and  asked  her  sister-in-law  in  what  more  she  could  be  useful. 

"What  I  should  like  best,"  said  Rebecca,  "would  be  to  go  to 
the  nursery;  and  see  your  dear  little  children."  On  which  the  two 
ladies  looked  very  kindly  at  each  other,  and  went  to  that  apartment 
hand-in-hand. 

Becky  admired  little  Matilda,  who  was  not  quite  four  years  old, 
as  the  most  charming  little  love  in  the  world ;  and  the  boy,  a  little 
fellow  of  two  years — pale,  heavy-eyed,  and  large-headed,  she  pro- 
nounced to  be  a  perfect  prodigy  in  point  of  size,  intelligence,  and 
beauty. 

"I  wish  mamma  would  not  insist  on  giving  him  so  much 
medicine,"  Lady  Jane  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  often  think  we  should 
all  be  better  without  it."  And  then  Lady  Jane  and  her  new-found 
friend  had  one  of  those  confidential  medical  conversations  about  the 
children,  which  all  mothers,  and  most  women,  as  I  am  given  to 
understand,  delight  in.  Fifty  years  ago,  and  when  the  present 
writer,  being  an  interesting  little  boy,  was  ordered  out  of  the  room 
with  the  ladies  after  dinner,  I  remember  quite  well  that  their  talk 
was  chiefly  about  their  ailments ;  and  putting  this  question  directly 
to  two  or  three  since,  I  have  always  got  from  them  the  acknowledg- 
ment that  times  are  not  changed.  Let  my  fair  readers  remrak  for 
themselves  this  very  evening  when  they  quit  the  dessert-table,  and 
assemble  to  celebrate  the  drawing-room  mysteries.     Well — in  h*lf- 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  403 

an-hour  Beclcy  and  Lady  Jane  were  close  and  intimate  friends — and 
in  the  course  of  the  evening  her  Ladyship  informed  Sir  Pitt  that 
she  thought  her  new  sister-in-law  was  a  kind,  frank,  unaffected,  and 
affectionate  young  woman.  '^ 

And  so  having  easily  won  the  daughter's  good-will,  the  inde- 
fatigable little  woman  bent  herself  to  conciliate  the  august  Lady 
Southdown.  As  soon  as  she  found  her  Ladyship  alone,  Rebecca 
attacked  her  on  the  nursery  question  at  once,  and  said  that  her  own 
little  boy  was  saved,  actually  saved,  by  calomel,  freely  administered, 
when  all  the  physicians  in  Paris  had  given  the  dear  child  up.  And 
then  she  mentioned  how  often  she  had  heard  of  Lady  Southdown 
from  that  excellent  man  the  Reverend  Lawrence  Grills,  minister  of 
the  chapel  in  May  Fair,  which  she  frequented ;  and  how  her  views 
were  very  much  changed  by  circumstances  and  misfortunes ;  and 
how  she  hoped  that  a  past  life  spent  in  worldliness  and  error  might 
not  incapacitate  her  from  more  serious  thought  for  the  future.  She 
described  how  in  former  days  she  had  been  indebted  to  Mr.  Crawley 
for  religious  instruction,  touched  upon  the  "Washerwoman  ot 
Finchley  Common,"  which  she  had  read  with  the  greatest  profit, 
and  asked  about  Lady  Emily,  its  gifted  author,  now  Lady  Emily 
Hornblower,  at  Cape  Town,  where  her  husband  had  strong  hopes  of 
becoming  Bishop  of  Caffraria. 

But  she  crowned  all,  and  confirmed  herself  in  Lady  Southdown's 
favour,  by  feeling  very  much  agitated  and  unwell  after  the  funeral, 
and  requesting  her  Ladyship's  medical  advice,  which  the  Dowager 
not  only  gave,  but,  wrapped  up  in  a  bed-gown,  and  looking  more  like 
Lady  Macbeth  than  ever,  came  privately  in  the  night  to  Becky's 
room,  with  a  parcel  of  favoiu"ite  tracts,  and  a  medicine  of  her  own 
composition,  which  she  insisted  that  Mrs.  Rawdon  should  take. 

Becky  first  accepted  the  tracts,  and  began  to  examine  them  with 
great  interest,  engaging  the  Dowager  in  a  conversation  concerning 
them  and  the  welfare  of  her  soul,  by  which  means  she  hoped  that 
her  body  might  escape  medication.  But  after  the  religious  topics 
were  exhausted.  Lady  Macbeth  would  not  quit  Becky's  chamber 
until  her  cup  of  night-drink  was  emptied  too;  and  poor  Mrs. 
Rawdon  was  compelled  actually  to  assume  a  look  of  gratitude,  and 
to  swallow  the  medicine  under  the  unyielding  old  Dowager's  nose, 
who  left  her  victim  finally  with  a  benediction. 

It  did  not  much  comfort  Mrs.  Rawdon ;  her  countenance  was 
very  queer  when  Rawdon  came  in  and  heard  what  had  happened ; 
and  his  explosions  of  laughter  were  as  loud  as  usual,  when  Becky, 
with  a  fun  which  she  could  not  disguise,  even  though  it  was  at  her 
own  expense,  described  the  occurrence,  and  how  she  had  been  victi- 
mised by  Lady  Southdown.  Lord  Steyne,  and  her  son  in  London, 
6 


404  VANITY    FAIR 

had  many  a  laugh  over  the  story,  when  Rawdon  and  his  wife  re- 
turned to  their  quarters  in  May  Fair.  Becky  acted  the  whole  scene 
for  them.  She  put  on  a  nightcap  and  gown.  She  preached  a  great 
sermon  in  the  true  serious  manner;  she  lectured  on  the  virtue  of 
the  medicine  which  she  pretended  to  administer,  with  a  gravity  of 
imitation  so  perfect,  that  you  would  have  thought  it  was  the  Coun- 
tess's own  Roman  nose  through  which  she  snuffled.  "  Give  us  Lady 
Southdown  and  the  black  dose,"  was  a  constant  cry  amongst  the 
folks  in  Becky's  little  drawing-room  in  May  Fair.  And  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  the  Dowager  Countesss  of  Southdown  was  made 
amusing. 

Sir  Pitt  remembered  the  testimonies  of  respect  and  veneration 
which  Rebecca  had  paid  personally  to  himself  in  early  days,  and  was 
tolerably  well  disposed  towards  her.  The  marriage,  ill-advised  as 
it  was,  had  improved  Rawdon  very  much — that  was  clear  from  the 
Colonel's  altered  habits  and  demeanour — and  had  it  not  been  a  lucky 
union  as  regarded  Pitt  himself?  The  cunning  diplomatist  smiled 
inwardly  as  he  owned  that  he  owed  his  fortune  to  it,  and  acknow- 
ledged that  he  at  least  ought  not  to  cry  out  against  it.  His  satis- 
faction was  not  removed  by  Rebecca's  own  statements,  behaviour, 
and  conversation. 

She  doubled  the  deference  which  before  had  charmed  him,  calling 
out  his  conversational  powers  in  such  a  manner  as  quite  to  surprise 
Pitt  himself,  who,  always  inclined  to  respect  his  own  talents,  admired 
them  the  more  when  Rebecca  pointed  them  out  to  him.  With  her 
sister-in-law,  Rebecca  was  satisfactorily  able  to  prove,  that  it  was 
Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  who  brought  about  the  marriage  which  she  after- 
wards so  calumniated  :  that  it  was  Mrs.  Bute's  avarice — who  hoped 
to  gain  all  Miss  Crawley's  fortune,  and  deprive  Rawdon  of  his  aunt's 
favour — which  caused  and  invented  all  the  wicked  reports  against 
Rebecca.  "  She  succeeded  in  making  us  poor,"  Rebecca  said,  with 
an  air  of  angelical  patience ;  "  but  how  can  I  be  angry  with  a  woman 
who  has  given  me  one  of  the  best  husbands  in  the  world  1  And  has 
not  her  own  avarice  been  sufficiently  punished  by  the  ruin  of  her 
own  hopes,  and  the  loss  of  the  property  by  which  she  set  so  much 
store "?  Poor ! "  she  cried.  "  Dear  Lady  Jane,  what  care  we  for 
poverty  1  I  am  used  to  it  from  childhood,  and  I  am  often  thankful 
that  Miss  Crawley's  money  has  gone  to  restore  the  splendour  of  the 
noble  old  family  of  which  I  am  so  proud  to  be  a  member.  I  am  sure 
Sir  Pitt  will  make  a  much  better  use  of  it  than  Rawdon  would." 

All  these  speeches  were  reported  to  Sir  Pitt  by  the  most  faithful 
of  wives,  and  increased  the  favourable  impression  which  Rebecca 
made ;  so  much  so,  that  when  on  the  third  day  after  the  funeral 
the  family  party  were  at  dinner,  Sir  Pitt  Orawley,  carving  fowls 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  405 

at  the  head  of  the  table,  actually  said  to  Mrs.  Rawdon,  "  Ahem  ! 
Rebecca^  may  I  give  you  a  wing  1 " — a  speech  which  made  the  little 
woman's  eyes  sparkle  with  pleasure. 

While  Rebecca  was  prosecuting  the  above  schemes  and  hopes, 
and  Pitt  Crawley  arranging  the  funeral  ceremonial  and  other  matters 
connected  with  his  future  progress  and  dignity,  and  Lady  Jane  busy 
with  her  nursery,  as  far  as  her  mother  would  let  her,  and  the  sun 
rising  and  setting,  and  the  clock-tower  bell  of  the  Hall  ringing  to 
dinner  and  to  prayers  as  usual,  the  body  of  the  late  owner  of  Queen's 
Crawley  lay  in  the  apartment  which  he  had  occupied,  watched  un- 
ceasingly by  the  professional  attendants  who  were  engaged  for  that 
rite.  A  woman  or  two,  and  three  or  four  undertaker's  men,  the 
best  whom  Southampton  could  furnish,  dressed  in  black,  and  of  a 
proper  stealthy  and  tragical  demeanour,  had  charge  of  the  remains, 
which  they  watched  turn  about,  having  the  housekeeper's  room  for 
their  place  of  rendezvous  when  off  duty,  where  they  played  at  cards 
in  privacy  and  drank  their  beer. 

The  members  of  the  family  and  servants  of  the  house  kept  away 
from  the  gloomy  spot,  where  the  bones  of  the  descendant  of  an 
ancient  line  of  knights  and  gentlemen  lay,  awaiting  their  final  con- 
signment to  the  family  crypt.  No  regrets  attended  them,  save  those 
of  the  poor  woman  who  had  hoped  to  be  Sir  Pitt's  wife  and  widow, 
and  who  had  fled  in  disgrace  from  the  Hall  over  which  she  had  so 
nearly  been  a  ruler.  Beyond  her  and  a  favourite  old  pointer  he  had, 
and  between  whom  and  himself  an  attachment  subsisted  during  the 
period  of  his  imbecility,  the  old  man  had  not  a  single  friend  to 
mourn  him,  having  indeed,  during  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  never 
taken  the  least  pains  to  secure  one.  Could  the  best  and  kindest  of 
us  who  depart  from  the  earth,  have  an  opportunity  of  revisiting  it, 
I  suppose  he  or  she  (assuming  that  any  Vanity  Fair  feelings  subsist 
in  the  sphere  whither  we  are  bound)  would  have  a  pang  of  mortifi- 
cation at  finding  how  soon  our  survivors  were  consoled.  And  so 
Sir  Pitt  was  forgotten — like  the  kindest  and  best  of  us — only  a  few 
weeks  sooner. 

Those  who  will  may  follow  his  remains  to  the  grave,  whither 
they  were  borne  on  the  appointed  day,  in  the  most  becoming  manner, 
the  family  in  black  coaches,  with  their  handkerchiefs  up  to  their 
noses,  ready  for  the  tears  which  did  not  come :  the  undertaker  and 
his  gentlemen  in  deep  tribulation :  the  select  tenantry  mourning 
out  of  compliment  to  the  new  landlord :  the  neighbouring  gentry's 
carriages  at  three  miles  an  hour,  empty,  and  in  profound  affliction : 
the  parson  speaking  out  the  formula  about  "  our  dear  brother 
departed."     As  long  as  we  have  a  man's  body,  we  play  our  Vanities 


4o6  VANITY    FAIR 

upon  it,  surrounding  it  with  hunibug  and  ceremonies^  laying  it  in 
state,  and  packing  it  up  in  gilt  nails  ISid  velvet :  and  we  finish  our 
duty  by  placing  over  it  a  stone,  written  all  over  witl^  lies.  Bute's 
curate,  a  smart  young  fellow  from  Oxford,  and  Sir  PittrXJrawley, 
composed  between  them  an  appropriate  Latin  epitaph  for  the  late 
lamented  Baronet :  and  the  former  preached  a  classical  sermon, 
exhorting  the  survivors  not  to  give  way  to  grief,  and  informing 
them  in  the  most  respectful  terms  that  they  also  would  be  one  day 
called  upon  to  pass  that  gloomy  and  mysterious  portal  which  had 
just  closed  upon  the  remains  of  their  lamented  brother.  Then  the 
tenantry  mounted  on  horseback  again,  or  stayed  and  refreshed  them- 
selves at  the  Crawley  Arms.  Then,  after  a  lunch  in  the  servants' 
hall  at  Queen's  Crawley,  the  gentry's  carriages  wheeled  off  to  their 
different  destinations  :  then  the  undertaker's  men,  taking  the  ropes, 
palls,  velvets,  ostrich  feathers,  and  other  mortuary  properties, 
clambered  up  on  the  roof  of  the  hearse,  and  rode  off  to  South- 
ampton. Their  faces  relapsed  into  a  natural  expression  as  the 
horses,  clearing  the  lodge-gates,  got  into  a  brisker  trot  on  the  open 
road;  and  squads  of  them  might  have  been  seen,  speckling  with 
black  the  public-house  entrances,  with  pewter  pots  flashing  in  the 
sunshine.  Sir  Pitt's  invalid  chair  was  wheeled  away  into  a  tool- 
house  in  the  garden :  the  old  pointer  used  to  howl  sometimes  at 
first,  but  these  were  the  only  accents  of  grief  which  were  heard  in 
the  Hall  of  which  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  Baronet,  had  been  master  for 
some  threescore  years. 

As  the  birds  were  pretty  plentiful,  and  partridge-shooting  is  as 
it  were  the  duty  of  an  English  gentleman  of  statesman-like  propen- 
sities. Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  the  first  shock  of  grief  over,  went  out  a 
little  and  partook  of  that  diversion  in  a  white  hat  with  crape  round 
it.  The  sight  of  those  fields  of  stubble  and  turnips,  now  his  own, 
gave  him  many  secret  joys.  Sometimes,  and  with  an  exquisite 
humility,  he  took  no  gun,  but  went  out  with  a  peaceful  bamboo 
cane  :  Rawdon,  his  big  brother,  and  the  keepers  blazing  away  at  his 
side.  Pitt's  money  and  acres  had  a  great  effect  upon  his  brother. 
The  penniless  Colonel  became  quite  obsequious  and  respectful  to  the 
head  of  his  house,  and  despised  the  milksop  Pitt  no  longer.  Rawdon 
listened  with  sympathy  to  his  senior's  prospects  of  planting  and 
draining :  gave  his  advice  about  the  stables  and  cattle,  rode  over  to 
Mudbury  to  look  at  a  mare,  which  he  thought  would  carry  Lady 
Jane,  and  offered  to  break  her,  &c.  :  the  rebellious  dragoon  was 
quite  humbled  and  subdued,  and  became  a  most  creditable  younger 
brother.  He  had  constant  bulletins  from  Miss  Briggs  in  London 
respecting  little   Rawdon,  who  was  left  behind  there :   who  sent 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  407 

messages  of  his  own.     "I  am  very  well,"  he  wrote.     "I  hope  you 

are  very  well.     I  hope  mamma  is  very  well.     The  pony  is  very 

well.     Grey  takes  me  to  ride  in  the  Park.     I  can  canter.     I  met 

the  little  boy  who  rode  before.     He^cried  when  he  cantered.     I  do         oc 

not  cry."    Rawdon  read  these  letters  to  his  brother,  and  Lady  Jane, 

who  was  delighted  with  them.      The   Baronet  promised  to  take 

charge  of  the  lad  at  school ;  and  his  kind-hearted  wife  gave  Rebecca 

a  bank-note,  begging  her  to  buy  a  present  with  it  for  her  little 

nephew. 

One  day  followed  another,  and  the  ladies  of  the  house  passed 
their  life  in  those  calm  pursuits  and  amusements  which  satisfy 
country  ladies.  Bells  rang  to  meals,  and  to  prayers.  The  young 
ladies  took  exercise  on  the  pianoforte  every  morning  after  breakfast, 
Rebecca  giving  them  the  benefit  of  her  instruction.  Then  they  put 
on  thick  shoes  and  walked  in  the  park  or  shrubberies,  or  beyond  the 
palings  into  the  village,  descending  upon  the  cottages,  with  Lady 
Southdown's  medicine  and  tracts  for  the  sick  people  there.  Lady 
Southdown  drove  out  in  a  pony-chaise,  when  Rebecca  would  take 
her  place  by  the  Dowager's  side,  and  listen  to  her  solemn  talk  with 
the  utmost  interest.  She  sang  Handel  and  Haydn  to  the  family  of 
evenings,  and  engaged  in  a  large  piece  of  worsted  work,  as  if  she 
had  been  born  to  the  business,  and  as  if  this  kind  of  life  was  to  con- 
tinue with  her  until  she  should  sink  to  the  grave  in  a  polite  old  age, 
leaving  regrets  and  a  great  quantity  of  consols  behind  her — as  if 
there  were  not  cares  and  duns,  schemes,  shifts,  and  poverty,  waiting 
outside  the  park  gates,  to  pounce  upon  her  when  she  issued  into  the 
world  again 

"  It  isn't  difficult  to  be  a  country  gentleman's  wife,"  Rebecca 
thought.     "  I  think  I  could  be  a  good  woman  if  I  had  five  thousand 
a  year.     I  could  dawdle  about  in  the  nursery,  and  count  the  apricots 
on  the  wall.     I  could  water  plants  in  a  greenhouse,  and  pick  off  dead 
leaves  from  the  geraniums.     I  could  ask  old  women  about  their 
rheumatisms,  and  order  half-a-crown's  worth  of  soup  for  the  poor. 
I  shouldn't  miss  it  much,  out  of  five  thousand  a  year.     I  could  even 
drive  out  ten  miles  to  dine  at  a  neighbour's,  and  dress  in  the  fashions 
of  the  year  before  last.     I  could  go  to  church  and  keep  awake  in 
the  great  family  pew :  or  go  to  sleep  behind  the  curtains,  with  my 
veil  down,  if  I  only  had  practice.     I  could  pay  everybody,  if  I  had  .-. 
but  the  money.     This  is  what  the  conjurers  here  pride  themselves^ 
upon  doing.     They  look  down  with  pity  upon  us  miserable  sinners    I 
who  have  none.     They  think  themselves  generous  if  they  give  our    T 
children  a  five-pound  note,  and  us  contemptible  if  we  are  without    I 
one."    And  who  knows  but  Rebecca  was  right  in  her  speculations —     \ 
and  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  money  and  fortune  which  made    J  — " 


4o8  VANITY   FAIR 

the  difference  between  her  and  an  honest  woman?  If  you  take 
temptations  into  account,  who  is  to  say  that  he  is  better  than  his 
neighbour  ?  A  comfortable  career  of  prosperity,  if  it  does  not  make 
people  honest,  at  least  keeps  them  so.  An  alderman  coming  from  a 
turtle  feast  will  not  step  out  of  his  carriage  to  steal  a  leg  of  mutton  ; 

Cbut  put  him  to  starve,  and  see  if  he  will  not  purloin  a  loaf  Becky 
consoled  herself  by  so  balancing  the  chances  and  equalising  the 
distribution  of  good  and  evil  in  the  world. 

The  old  haunts,  the  old  fields  and  woods,  the  copses,  ponds,  and 
gardens,  the  rooms  of  the  old  house  where  she  had  spent  a  couple  of 
years  seven  years  ago,  were  all  carefully  revisited  by  her.  She  had 
been  young  there,  or  comparatively  so,  for  she  forgot  the  time  when 
she  ever  was  young — but  she  remembered  her  thoughts  and  feelings 
seven  years  back,  and  contrasted  them  with  those  which  she  had  at 
present,  now  that  she  had  seen  the  world  and  lived  with  great 
people,  and  raised  herself  far  beyond  her  original  humble  station. 

/".I  have  passed  beyond  it,  because  I  have  brains,"  Becky  thought, 
"  and  almost  all  the  rest  of  the  world  are  fools.  I  could  not  go  back, 
and  consort  with  those  people  now,  whom  I  used  to  meet  in  my 
father's  studio.  Lords  come  up  to  my  door  with  stars  and  garters 
instead  of  poor  artists  with  screws  of  tobacco  in  their  pockets.  I 
have  a  gentleman  for  my  husband,  and  an  Earl's  daughter  for  my 
sister,  in  the  very  house  where  I  was  little  better  than  a  servant  a 
few  years  ago.  But  am  I  much  better  to  do  now  in  the  world  than 
I  was  when  I  was  the  poor  painter's  daughter,  and  wheedled  the 
grocer  round  the  corner  for  sugar  and  tea  1  Suppose  I  had  married 
Francis,  who  was  so  fond  of  me — I  couldn't  have  been  much  poorer 
than  I  am  now.     Heigho !     I  wish  I  could  exchange  my  position 

(in  society,  and  all  my  relations,  for  a  snug  sum  in  the  Three  per 
Cent.  Consols ; "  for  so  it  was  that  Becky  felt  the  Vanity  of  human 
affairs,  and  it  was  in  those  securities  that  she  would  have  liked  to 
cast  anchor. 

^Xlt  may,  perhaps,  have  struck  her  that  to  have  been  honest  and 
humble,  to  have  done  her  duty,  and  to  have  marched  straightforward 
on  her  way,  would  have  brought  her  as  near  happiness  as  that  path 
by  which  she  was  striving  to  attain  it.  -  But, — ^just  as  the  children 
at  Queen's  Crawley  went  round  the  room,  where  the  body  of  their 
father  lay ; — if  ever  Becky  had  these  thoughts,  she  was  accustomed 
to  walk  round  them,  and  not  look  in.  She  eluded  them,  and  despised 
them — or  at  least  she  was  committed  to  the  other  path,  from  which 
retreat  was  now  impossible.  And  for  my  part  I  believe  that  remorse 
is  the  least  active  of  all  a  man's  moral  senses — the  very  easiest  to 
be  deadened  when  wakened :  and  in  some  never  wakened  at  all. 
We  grieve  at  bein^  found  out,  and  at  the  idea  of  shame  or^punish;:;. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  409 

ment ;  but  the  mere  sense  of  wrong  makes  very  few  people  unhappy 
in  Vanity  Fair. 

So  Rebecca,  during  her  stay  at  Queen's  Crawley,  made  as  many 
friends  of  the  Mammon  of  Unrighfeousness  as  she  could  possibly 
bring  under  control.  Lady  Jane  and  her  husband  bade  her  farewell 
with  the  warmest  demonstrations  of  good-will.  They  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  the  time  when,  the  family-house  in  Gaunt  Street 
being  repaired  and  beautified,  they  were  to  meet  again  in  London. 
Lady  Southdown  made  her  up  a  packet  of  medicine,  and  sent  a 
letter  by  her  to  the  Rev.  Lawrence  Grills,  exhorting  that  gentleman 
to  save  the  brand  who  "honoured"  the  letter  from  the  burning. 
Pitt  accompanied  them  with  four  horses  in  the  carriage  to  Mudbury, 
having  sent  on  their  baggage  in  a  cart  previously,  accompanied  with 
loads  of  game. 

"  How  happy  you  will  be  to  see  your  darling  little  boy  again  !  " 
Lady  Crawley  said,  taking  leave  of  her  kinswoman. 

"  Oh  so  happy  !  "  said  Rebecca,  throwing  up  the  green  eyes.    She 
was  immensely  happy  to  be  free  of  the  place,  and  yet  loth  to  go. 
Queen's  Crawley  was  abominably  stupid ;  and  yet  the  air  there  was  ^-^ 
somehoWs^urer  than  that  which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  breathe,    f 
Everybody  had  been  dull,  but  had  been  kind  in  their  way.     "JtJs    ^ 
1 1  all  the  influence  of  a  long  course  of  Three  per  Cents., *^  BeckxjaidJbo—  \ 
1\herself,  and  was  right  very  likely.  ^ 

However,  the  London  lamps  flashed  joyfully  as  the  stage  rolled 
into  Piccadilly,  and  Briggs  had  made  a  beautiful  fire  in  Curzon  Street, 
and  little  Rawdon  was  up  to  welcome  back  his  papa  and  mamma. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

WHICH  TREATS  OF  THE  OSBORNE  FAMILY 

CONSIDERABLE  time  has  elapsed  since  we  have  seen  our 
respectable  friend,  old  Mr.  Osborne  of  Russell  Square.  He 
has  not  been  the  happiest  of  mortals  since  last  we  met  him. 
Events  have  occurred  which  have  not  improved  his  temper,  and  in 
more  instances  than  one  he  has  not  been  allowed  to  have  his  own  way. 
To  be  thwarted  in  this  reasonable  desire  was  always  very  injurious 
to  the  old  gentleman;  and  resistance  became  doubly  exasperating 
when  gout,  age,  loneliness,  and  the  force  of  many  disappointments 
combined  to  weigh  him  down.  His  stiff  black  hair  began  to  grow 
quite  white  soon  after  his  son's  death  ~;  his  face  grew  redder ;  his 
hands  trembled  more  and  more  as  he  poured  out  his  glass  of  port 
wine.  He  led  his  clerks  a  dire  life  in  the  City  :  his  family  at  home 
were  not  much  happier.  I  doubt  if  Rebecca,  whom  we  have  seen 
piousiy  praying  for  Consols,  would  have  exchanged  her  poverty  and 
the  dare-devil  excitement  and  chances  of  her  life,  for  Osborne's  money 
and  the  humdrum  gloom  which  enveloped  him.  He  had  proposed  for 
Miss  Swartz,  but  had  been  rejected  scornfully  by  the  partisans  of 
that  lady,  who  married  her  to  a  young  sprig  of  Scotch  nobility.  He 
was  a  man  to  have  married  a  woman  out  of  low  life,  and  bullied 
her  dreadrally  afterwards  :  but  no  person  presented  herself  suitable 
to  his  taste  ;  and  instead,  he  tyrannised  over  his  unmarried  daughter 
at  home.  She  had  a  fine  carriage  and  fine  horses,  and  sate  at  the 
head  of  a  table  loaded  with  the  grandest  plate.  She  had  a  cheque- 
book, a  prize  footman  to  follow  her  when  she  walked,  unlimited 
credit,  and  bows  and  compliments  from  all  the  tradesmen,  and  all 
the  appurtenances  of  an  heiress  ;  but  she  spent  a  woful  time.  The 
little  charity-girls  at  the  Foundling,  the  sweeperess  at  the  crossing, 
the  poorest  under-kitchenmaid  in  the  servants'  hall,  was  happy  com- 
pared to  that  unfortunate  and  now  middle-aged  young  lady. 

Frederick  Bullock,  Esq.,  of  the  house  of  Bullock,  Hulker,  and 
Bullock,  had  married  Maria  Osborne,  not  without  a  great  deal  of 
difficulty  and  grumbling  on  Mr.  Bullock's  part.  George  being  dead 
and  cut  out  of  his  father's  will,  Frederick  insisted  that  the  half  of 
the  old  gentleman's  property  should  be  settled  upon  his  Maria,  and 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  411 

indeed,  for  a  long  time,  refiised  "  to  come  to  the  scratch  "  (it  was  v  / 
Mr.  Frederick's  own  expression)  on  any  other  terms.  Osborne  said  //C^ 
Fred  had  agreed  to  take  his  daughter  with  twenty  thousand,  and 
he  should  bind  himself  to  no  more.  ^  "  Fred  might  take  it,  and  wel- 
come, or  leave  it,  and  go  and  be  hanged."  Fred,  whose  hopes  had 
been  raised  when  George  had  been  disinherited,  thought  himself 
infamously  swindled  by  the  old  merchant,  and  for  some  time 
made  as  if  he  would  break  off  the  match  altogether.  Osborne 
withdrew  his  account  from  Bullock  and  Hulker's,  went  on  'Change 
with  a  horsewhip  which  he  swore  he  would  lay  across  the  back 
of  a  certain  scoundrel  that  should  be  nameless,  and  demeaned 
himself  in  his  usual  violent  manner.  Jane  Osborne  condoled  with 
her  sister  Maria  during  this  family  feud.  "  I  always  told  you, 
Maria,  that  it  was  your  money  he  loved,  and  not  you,"  she  said 
soothingly. 

"  He  selected  me  and  my  money,  at  any  rate  :  he  didn't  choose 
you  and  yours,"  replied  Maria,  tossing  up  her  head. 

The  nipture  was,  however,  only  temporary.  Fred's  father  and 
senior  partners  counselled  him  to  take  Maria,  even  with  the  twenty 
thousand  settled,  half  down,  and  half  at  the  death  of  Mr.  Osborne, 
with  the  chances  of  the  further  division  of  the  property.  So  he 
"  knuckled  down,"  again  to  use  his  own  phrase  ;  and  sent  old  Hulker 
with  peaceable  overtures  to  Osborne.  It  was  his  father,  he  said, 
who  would  not  hear  of  the  match,  and  had  made  the  difficulties ; 
he  was  most  anxious  to  keep  the  engagement.  The  excuse  wag 
sulkily  accepted  by  Mr.  Osborne.  Hulker  and  Bullock  were  a  high 
family  of  the  City  aristocracy,  and  connected  with  the  "  nobs  "  at 
the  West  End.  It  was  something  for  the  old  man  to  be  able  to 
say,  "  My  son,  sir,  of  the  house  of  Hulker,  Bullock,  &  Co.,  sir ; 
my  daughter's  cousin.  Lady  Mary  Mango,  sir,  daughter  of  the  Right 
Hon.  the  Earl  of  Castlemouldy."  In  his  imagination  he  saw  his 
house  peopled  by  the  "  nobs."  So  he  forgave  young  Bullock,  and 
consented  that  the  marriage  should  take  place. 

It  was  a  grand  affair — the  bridegroom's  relatives  giving  the 
breakfast,  their  habitations  being  near  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square, 
where  the  business  took  place.  The  "  nobs  of  the  West  End  "  were 
invited,  and  many  of  them  signed  the  book.  Mr.  Mango  and  Lady 
Mary  Mango  were  there,  with  the  dear  young  Gwendoline  and 
Guinever  Mango  as  bridesmaids ;  Colonel  Bludyer  of  the  Dragoon 
Guards  (eldest  son  of  the  house  of  Bludyer  Brothers,  Mincing  Lane), 
another  cousin  of  the  bridegroom,  and  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Bludyer ; 
the  Honourable  George  Boulter,  Lord  Levant's  son,  and  his  lady, 
Miss  Mango  that  was ;  Lord  Viscount  Castletoddy ;  H(mourable 
James  McMuU  and  Mrs.  McMuU   (formerly  Miss  Swartz),  and  a 


412  VANITY    FAIR 

host  of  fashionables,  who  have  all  married  into  Lombard  Street, 
and  done  a  great  deal  to  ennoble  Comhill. 

The  young  couple  had  a  house  near  Berkeley  Square,  and  a 
small  villa  at  Roehampton,  among  the  banking  colony  there.  Fred 
was  considered  to  have  made  rather  a  mesalliance  by  the  ladies  of 
his  family,  whose  grandfather  had  been  in  a  Charity  School,  and  who 
were  allied  through  the  husbands  with  some  of  the  best  blood  in 
England.  And  Maria  was  bound,  by  superior  pride  and  great  care 
in  the  composition  of  her  visiting-book,  to  make  up  for  the  defects 
of  birth ;  and  felt  it  her  duty  to  see  her  father  and  sister  as  little 
as  possible. 

That  she  should  utterly  break  with  the  old  man,  who  had  still 
so  many  scores  of  thousand  pounds  to  give  away,  is  absurd  to 
suppose.  Fred  Bullock  would  never  allow  her  to  do  that.  But 
/  she  was  still  yoimg  and  incapable  of  hiding  her  feelings :  and  by 
inviting  her  papa  and  sister  to  her  third-rate  parties,  and  behaving 
very  coldly  to  them  when  they  came,  and  by  avoiding  Russell 
Square,  and  indiscreetly  begging  her  father  to  quit  that  odious 
vulgar  place;  she  did  more  harm  than  all  Frederick's  diplom^acy 
could  repair,  and  perilled  her  chance  of  her  inheritance  like  a  giddy 
heedless  creature  as  she  was. 
■^  "So  Russell  Square  is  not  good  enough  for  Mrs.  Maria,  hay  1 " 

said  the  old  gentleman,  rattling  up  the  carriage- windows  as  he  and 
his  daughter  drove  away  one  night  from  Mrs.  Frederick  Bullock's, 
after  dinner.  "  So  she  invites  her  father  and  sister  to  a  second 
day's  dinner  (if  those  sides,  or  ontrys,  as  she  calls  'em,  weren't 
served  yesterday,  I'm  d — d),  and  to  meet  City  folks  and  littery 
men,  and  keeps  the  Earls  and  the  ladies,  and  the  Honourables  to 
j  herself?  Honourables?  Damn  Honourables.  I  am  a  plain  British 
merchant,  I  am  :  and  could  buy  the  beggarly  hounds  over  and  over. 
Lords,  indeed ! — why,  at  one  of  her  swarreys  I  saw  one  of  'em 
speak  to  a  dam  fiddler — a  fellar  I  despise.  And  they  won't  come 
to  Russell  Square,  won't  they  1  Why,  I'll  lay  my  life  I've  got  a 
better  glass  of  wine,  and  pay  a  better  figure  for  it,  and  can  show  a 
handsomer  service  of  silver,  and  can  lay  a  better  dinner  on  my 
mahogany,  than  ever  they  see  on  theirs — the  cringing,  sneaking, 
stuck-up  fools.  Drive  on  quick,  James :  I  want  to  get  back  to 
Russell  Square — ha,  ha  !  "  and  he  sank  back  into  the  comer  with  a 
furious  laugh.  With  such  reflections  on  his  own  superior  merit, 
it  was  the  custom  of  the  old  gentleman  not  unfrequently  to  console 
himself 

Jane  Osborne  could  not  but  concur  in  these  opinions  respecting 
her  sister's  conduct ;  and  when  Mrs.  Frederick's  first-born,  Frederick 
Augustus  Howard  Stanley  Devereux  Bullock,  was  bom,  old  Osbome, 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  413 

who  was  invited  to  the  christening,  and  to  be  godfather,  contented 
himself  with  sending  the  child  a  gold  cup,  with  twenty  guineas 
inside  it  for  the  nurse.  "  That's  more  than  any  of  your  Lords  will 
give,  ril  warrant,"  he  said,  and  reft^ed  to  attend  at  the  ceremony. 

The  splendour  of  the  gift,  however,  caused  great  satisfaction  to 
the  house  of  Bullock.  Maria  thought  that  her  father  wa«  very 
much  pleased  with  her,  and  Frederick  augured  the  best  for  his  little 
son  and  heir. 

One  can  fancy  the  pangs  with  which  Miss  Osborne  in  her  soli- 
tude in  Russell  Square  read  the  Morning  Post,  where  her  sister's 
name  occurred  every  now  and  then,  in  the  articles  headed  "  Fashion- 
able Reunions,"  and  where  she  had  an  opportunity  of  reading  a 
description  of  Mrs.  F.  Bullock's  costume,  when  presented  at  the 
Drawing-room  by  Lady  Frederica  Bullock.  Jane's  own  life,  as  we 
have  said,  admitted  of  no  such  grandeur.  It  was  an  awful  existence. 
She  had  to  get  up  of  black  winter's  mornings  to  make  breakfast  for 
her  scowling  old  father,  who  would  have  turned  the  whole  house 
out  of  doors  if  his  tea  had  not  been  ready  at  half-past  eight.  She 
remained  silent  opposite  to  him,  listening  to  the  urn  hissing,  and 
sitting  in  tremor  while  the  parent  read  his  paper,  and  consumed  his 
accustomed  portion  of  mufl&ns  and  tea.  At  half-past  nine  he  rose 
and  went  to  the  City,  and  she  was  almost  free  till  dinner-time, 
to  make  visitations  in  the  kitchen,  and  to  scold  the  servants :  to 
drive  abroad  and  descend  upon  the  tradesmen,  who  were  prodigiously 
respectful :  to  leave  her  cards  and  her  papa's  at  the  great  glum 
respectable  houses  of  their  City  friends ;  or  to  sit  alone  in  the  large 
drawing-room,  expecting  visitors ;  and  working  at  a  huge  piece  of 
worsted  by  the  fire,  on  the  sofa,  hard  by  the  great  Iphigenia  clock, 
which  ticked  and  tolled  with  mournful  loudness  in  the  dreary  room. 
The  great  glass  over  the  mantelpiece,  faced  by  the  other  great 
console  glass  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  increased  and  multi- 
plied between  them  the  brown  hoUand  bag  in  which  the  chandelier 
hung ;  until  you  saw  these  brown  hoUand  bags  fading  away  in  end- 
less perspectives,  and  this  apartment  of  Miss  Osborne's  seemed  the 
centre  of  a  system  of  drawing-rooms.  When  she  removed  the 
cordovan  leather  from  the  grand  piano,  and  ventured  to  play  a  few 
notes  on  it,  it  sounded  with  a  mournful  sadness,  startling  the  dismal 
echoes  of  the  house.  George's  picture  was  gone,  and  laid  upstairs 
in  a  lumber-room  in  the  garret ;  and  though  there  was  a  conscious- 
ness of  him,  and  father  and  daughter  often  instinctively  knew  that 
they  were  thinking  of  him,  no  mention  was  ever  made  of  the  brave 
and  once  darling  son. 

At  five  o'clock  Mr.  Osborne  came  back  to  his  dinner,  which  he 
and  his  daughter  took  in  silence  (seldom  broken,  except  when  he 


414  VANITY    FAIR 

swore  and  was  savage,  if  the  cooking  was  not  to  his  liking),  or  which 
they  shared  twice  in  a  month  with  a  party  of  dismal  friends  of 
Osborne's  rank  and  age.  Old  Dr.  Gulp  and  his  lady  from  Blooms- 
bury  Square :  old  Mr.  Frowser,  the  attorney,  from  Bedford  Row, 
a  very  great  man,  and  from  his  business,  hand-in-glove  with  the 
"  nobs  at  the  West  End  " ;  old  Colonel  Livermore,  of  the  Bombay 
Army,  and  Mrs.  Livermore,  from  Upper  Bedford  Place  :  old  Serjeant 
Toffy  and  Mrs.  Toffy ;  and  sometimes  old  Sir  Thomas  Coffin  and 
Lady  Coffin,  from  Bedford  Square.  Sir  Thomas  was  celebrated  as 
a  hanging  judge,  and  the  particular  tawny  port  was  produced  when 
he  dined  with  Mr.  Osborne. 

These  people  and  their  like  gave  the  pompous  Russell  Square 
merchant  pompous  dinners  back  again.  They  had  solemn  rubbers 
\  /  oip  whist,  when  they  went  upstairs  after  drinking,  and  their  carriages 
were  called  at  half-past  ten.  Many  rich  people,  whom  we  poor 
devils  are  in  the  habit  of  envying,  lead  contentedly  an  existence  like 
that  above  described.  Jane  Osborne  scarcely  ever  met  a  man  under 
sixty,  and  almost  the  only  bachelor  who  appeared  in  their  society 
was  Mr.  Smirk,  the  celebrated  ladies'  doctor. 

I  can't  say  that  nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  the  monotony 
of  this  awful  existence  :  the  fact  is,  there  had  been  a  secret  in  poor 
Jane's  life  which  had  made  her  father  more  savage  and  morose  than 
even  nature,  pride,  and  over-feeding  had  made  him.  This  secret  was 
connected  with  Miss  Wirt,  who  had  a  cousin  an  artist,  Mr.  Smee, 
very  celebrated  since  as  a  portrait-painter  and  R.A.,  but  who  once 
was  glad  enough  to  give  drawing-lessons  to  ladies  of  fashion.  Mr. 
Smee  has  forgotten  where  Russell  Square  is  now,  but  he  was  glad 
enough  to  visit  it  in  the  year  1818,  when  Miss  Osborne  had  instruc- 
tion from  him. 

Smee  (formerly  a  pupil  of  Sharpe  of  Frith  Street,  a  dissolute, 
irregular,  and  unsuccessful  man,  but  a  man  with  great  knowledge  of 
his  art)  being  the  cousin  of  Miss  Wirt,  we  say,  and  introduced  by 
her  to  Miss  Osborne,  whose  hand  and  heart  were  still  free  after 
various  incomplete  love  affairs,  felt  a  great  attachment  for  this  lady, 
and  it  is  believed  inspired  one  in  her  bosom.  Miss  Wirt  was  the 
confidante  of  this  intrigue.  I  know  not  whether  she  used  to  leave 
the  room  where  the  master  and  his  pupil  were  painting,  in  order  to 
give  them  an  opportunity  for  exchanging  those  vows  and  sentiments 
which  cannot  be  uttered  advantageously  in  the  presence  of  a  third 
party  :  I  know  not  whether  she  hoped  that  should  her  cousin  succeed 
in  carrying  off  the  rich  merchant's  daughter,  he  would  give  Miss  Wirt 
a  portion  of  the  wealth  which  she  had  enabled  him  to  win — all  that 
is  certain  is,  that  Mr.  Osborne  got  some  hint  of  the  transaction,  came 
back  from  the  City  abruptly,  and  entered  the  drawing-room  with 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  41 5 

his  bamboo-cane ;  found  the  painter,  the  pupil,  and  the  companion 
all  looking  exceedingly  pale  there ;  turned  the  former  out  of  doors 
with  menaces  that  he  would  break  every  bone  in  his  skin,  and  half- 
an-hour  afterwards  dismissed  Miss  W^irt  likewise,  kicking  her  trunks 
down  the  stairs,  trampling  on  her  bandboxes,  and  shaking  his  fist  at 
her  hackney  coach,  as  it  bore  her  away. 

Jane  Osborne  kept  her  bedroom  for  many  days.  She  was  not 
allowed  to  have  a  companion  afterwards.  Her  father  swore  to  her 
that  she  should  not  have  a  shilling  of  his  money  if  she  made  any 
match  without  his  concurrence ;  and  as  he  wanted  a  woman  to  keep 
his  house,  he  did  not  choose  that  she  should  marry  :  so  that  she  was 
obliged  to  give  up  all  projects  with  which  Cupid  had  any  share. 
During  her  papa's  life,  then,  she  resigned  herself  to  the  manner  of 
existence  here  described,  and  was  content  to  be  an  Old  Maid.  Her 
sister,  meanwhile,  was  having  children  with  finer  names  every  year 
— and  the  intercourse  between  the  two  grew  fainter  continually. 
"  Jane  and  I  do  not  move  in  the  same  sphere  of  life,"  Mrs.  Bullock 
said.  "  I  regard  her  as  a  sister,  of  course  " — which  means — what 
does  it  mean  when  a  lady  says  that  she  regards  Jane  as  a  sister  1 

It  has  been  described  how  the  Misses  Dobbin  lived  with  their 
father  at  a  fine  villa  at  Denmark  Hill,  where  there  were  beautiful 
graperies  and  peach-trees  which  delighted  little  Georgy  Osborne. 
The  Misses  Dobbin,  who  drove  often  to  Brompton  to  see  our  dear 
Amelia,  came  sometimes  to  Russell  Square  too,  to  pay  a  visit  to 
their  old  acquaintance  Miss  Osborne.  I  believe  it  was  in  conse- 
quence of  the  commands  of  their  brother  the  Major  in  India  (for 
whom  their  papa  had  a  prodigious  respect),  that  they  paid  atten 
tion  to  Mrs.  George ;  for  the  Major,  the  godfather  and  guardian  of 
Amelia's  little  boy,  still  hoped  that  the  child's  grandfather  might  be 
induced  to  relent  towards  him,  and  acknowledge  him  for  the  sake 
of  his  son.  The  Misses  Dobbin  kept  Miss  Osborne  acquainted  with 
the  state  of  Amelia's  affairs ;  how  she  was  living  with  her  father  and 
mother ;  how  poor  they  were ;  how  they  wondered  what  men,  and 
such  men  as  their  brother  and  dear  Captain  Osborne,  could  find  in 
such  an  insignificant  little  chit ;  how  she  was  still,  as  heretofore,  a 
namby-pamby  milk-and-water  aft'ected  creature— but  how  the  boy 
was  really  the  noblest  little  boy  ever  seen — for  the  hearts  of  all 
women  warm  towards  young  children,  and  the  sourest  spinster  is 
kind  to  them. 

One  day,  after  great  entreaties  on  the  part  of  the  Misses  Dobbin, 
Amelia  allowed  little  George  to  go  and  pass  a  day  with  them  at 
Denmark  Hill — a  part  of  which  day  she  spent  herself  in  writing 
to  the  Major  in  India.     She  congratulated  him  on  the  happy  news 


4i6  VANITY   FAIR 

which  his  pisters  had  just  conveyed  to  her.  She  prayed  for  his 
prosperity,  and  that  of  the  bride  he  had  chosen.  She  thanked  him 
for  a  thousand  thousand  kind  offices  and  proofs  of  steadfast  friend- 
ship to  her  in  her  affliction.  She  told  him  the  last  news  about  little 
Greorgy,  and  how  he  was  gone  to  spend  that  very  day  with  his  sisters 
in  the  country.  She  underlined  the  letter  a  great  deal,  and  she 
signed  herself  affectionately  his  friend,  Amelia  Osborne.  She  forgot 
to  send  any  message  of  kindness  to  Lady  O'Dowd,  as  her  wont  was 
—and  did  not  mention  Glorvina  by  name,  and  only  in  italics,  as  the 
Major's  hride,  for  whom  she  begged  blessings.  But  the  news  of  the 
marriage  removed  the  reserve  which  she  had  kept  up  towards  him. 
She  was  glad  to  be  able  to  own  and  feel  how  warmly  and  gratefully 
she  regarded  him — and  as  for  the  idea  of  being  jealou^s  of  Glorvina 
(Glorvina,  indeed  !),  Amelia  would  have  scouted  it,  if  an  angel  from 
heaven  had  hinted  it  to  her. 

That  night,  when  Georgy  came  back  in  the  pony-carriage  in 
which  he  rejoiced,  and  in  which  he  was  driven  by  Sir  William 
Dobbin's  old  coachman,  he  had  round  his  neck  a  fine  gold  chain  and 
watch.  He  said  an  old  lady,  not  pretty,  had  given  it  to  him,  who 
cried  and  kissed  him  a  great  deal.  But  he  didn't  like  her.  He  liked 
grapes  very  much.  And  he  only  liked  his  mamma.  Amelia  shrank 
and  started  :  the  timid  soul  felt  a  presentiment  of  terror  whien  she 
heard  that  the  relations  of  the  child's  father  had  seen  him. 

Miss  Osborne  came  back  to  give  her  father  his  dinner.  He  had 
made  a  good  speculation  in  the  City,  and  was  rather  in  a  good 
humour  that  day,  and  chanced  to  remark  the  agitation  under  which 
she  laboured.  "What's  the  matter,  Miss  Osborne?"  he  deigned 
to  say. 

The  woman  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,  sir,"  she  said,  "  I've  seen 
little  George.  He  is  as  beautiful  as  an  angel — and  so  like  him ! " 
The  old  man  opposite  to  her  did  not  say  a  word,  but  flushed  up,  and 
began  to  tremble  in  every  limb. 


y 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

LV  WHICH  THE  READER  HAS   TO  DOUBLE   THE  CAPE 

THE  astonished  reader  must  be  called  upon  to  transport  himself 
ten  thousand  miles  to  the  military  station  of  Bundlegunge,  in 
the  Madras  division  of  our  Indian  Empire,  where  our  gallant 
old  friends  of  the  — th  regiment  are  quartered  under  the  command 
of  the  brave  Colonel,  Sir  Michael  O'Dowd.  Time  has  dealt  kindly 
with  that  stout  officer,  as  it  does  ordinarily  with  men  who  have 
good  stomachs  and  good  tempers,  and  are  not  perplexed  over  much 
by  fatigue  of  the  brain.  The  Colonel  plays  a  good  knife  and  fork 
at  tiffin,  and  resumes  those  weapons  with  great  success  at  dinner. 
He  smokes  his  hookah  after  both  meals,  and  puffs  as  quietly  while 
his  wife  scolds  him,  as  he  did  under  the  fire  of  the  French  at 
Waterloo.  Age  and  heat  have  not  diminished  the  activity  or  the 
eloquence  of  the  descendant  of  the  Malonys  and  the  Molloys.  Her 
Ladyship,  our  old  acquaintance,  is  as  much  at  home  at  Madras  as 
at  Brussels — in  the  cantonment  as  under  the  tents.  On  the  march 
you  saw  her  at  the  head  of  the  regiment  seated  on  a  royal  elephant, 
a  noble  sight.  Mounted  on  that  beast,  she  has  been  into  action 
with  tigers  in  the  jungle :  she  has  been  received  by  native  princes, 
who  have  welcomed  her  and  Glorvina  into  the  recesses  of  their 
zenanas,  and  offered  her  shawls  and  jewels  which  it  went  to  her 
heart  to  refuse.  The  sentries  of  all  arms  salute  her  wherever  she 
makes  her  appearance :  and  she  touches  her  hat  gravely  to  their 
salutation.  Lady  O'Dowd  is  one  of  the  greatest  ladies  in  the 
Presidency  of  Madras — her  quarrel  with  Lady  Smith,  wife  of  Sir 
Minos  Smith  the  puisne  judge,  is  still  remembered  by  some  at 
Madras,  when  the  Colonel's  lady  snapped  her  fingers  in  the  Judge's 
lady's  face,  and  said  she'd  never  walk  behind  ever  a  beggarly  civilian. 
Even  now,  though  it  is  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  people  remember 
Lady  O'Dowd  performing  a  jig  at  Government  House,  where  she 
danced  down  two  Aides-de-Camp,  a  Major  of  Madras  Cavalry,  and 
two  gentlemen  of  the  Civil  Service;  and,  persuaded  by  Major 
Dobbin,  C.B.,  second  in  command  of  the  — th,  to  retire  to  the 
supper-room,  lassata  nondum  satiata  recessit. 

Peggy  O'Dowd  is  indeed  the  same  as  ever;  kind  in  act  and 


4t8  vanity   pair 

thought :  impetuous  in  temper :  eager  to  command :  a  tyrant  over 
her  Michael :  a  dragon  amongst  all  the  ladies  of  the  regiment :  a 
mother  to  all  the  young  men,  whom  she  tends  in  their  sickness, 
defends  in  all  their  scrapes,  and  with  whom  Lady  Peggy  is  immensely 
popular.  But  the  Subalterns'  and  Captains'  ladies  (the  Major  is 
unmarried)  cabal  against  her  a  good  deal.  They  say  that  Glorvina 
gives  herself  airs,  and  that  Peggy  herself  is  intolerably  domineering. 
She  interfered  with  a  little  congregation  which  Mrs.  Kirk  had  got 
up,  and  laughed  the  young  men  away  from  her  sermons,  stating  that 
a  soldier's  wife  had  no  business  to  be  a  parson :  that  Mrs.  Kirk 
would  be  much  better  mending  her  husband's  clothes :  and,  if  the 
regiment  wanted  sermons,  that  she  had  the  finest  in  the  world,  those 
of  her  uncle,  the  Dean.  She  abruptly  put  a  termination  to  a  flirta- 
tion which  Lieutenant  Stubble  of  the  regiment  had  commenced  with 
the  Surgeon's  wife,  threatening  to  come  down  upon  Stubble  for  the 
money  which  he  had  borrowed  from  her  (for  the  young  fellow  was 
still  of  an  extravagant  turn)  unless  he  broke  off  at  once  and  went 
to  the  Cape,  on  sick  leave.  On  the  other  hand,  she  housed  and 
sheltered  Mrs.  Posky,  who  fled  from  her  bungalow  one  night,  pursued 
by  her  infuriate  husband,  wielding  his  second  brandy  bottle,  and 
actually  carried  Posky  through  the  delirium  tremens,  and  broke  him 
of  the  habit  of  drinking,  which  had  grown  upon  that  officer,  as  all 
evil  habits  will  grow  upon  men.  In  a  word,  in  adversity  she  was 
the  best  of  comforters,  in  good  fortune  the  most  troublesome  of 
friends ;  having  a  perfectly  good  opinion  of  herself  always,  and  an 
indomitable  resolution  to  have  her  own  way. 

Among  other  points,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  Glorvina 
should  marry  our  old  friend  Dobbin.  Mrs.  O'Dowd  knew  the  Major's 
expectations  and  appreciated  his  good  qualities,  and  the  high  character 
which  he  enjoyed  in  his  profession.  Glorvina,  a  very  handsome, 
fresh-coloured,  black-haired,  blue-eyed  young  lady,  who  could  ride 
a  horse,  or  play  a  sonata  with  any  girl  out  of  the  County  Cork, 
seemed  to  be  the  very  person  destined  to  ensure  Dobbin's  happiness 
— much  more  than  that  poor  good  little  weak-spur'ted  Amelia,  about 
whom  he  used  to  take  on  so. — "  Look  at  Glorvina  enter  a  room," 
Mrs.  O'Dowd  would  say,  "and  compare  her  with  that  poor  Mrs. 
Osborne,  who  couldn't  say  bo  to  a  goose.  She'd  be  worthy  of  you, 
Major — you're  a  quiet  man  yourself,  and  want  some  one  to  talk  for 
ye.  And  though  she  does  not  come  of  such  good  blood  as  the 
Malonys  or  MoUoys,  let  me  tell  ye,  she's  of  an  ancient  family  that 
any  nobleman  might  be  proud  to  marry  into." 

But  before  she  had  come  to  such  a  resolution,  and  determined 
to  subjugate  Major  Dobbin  by  her  endearments,  it  must  be  o'wued 
that  Glorvina  had  practised  them  a  good  deal  elsewhere.     She  had 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  419 

had  a  season  in  Dublin,  and  who  knows  how  many  in  Cork,  Killamey, 
and  Mallow?  She  had  flirted  with  all  the  marriageable  officers 
whom  the  depots  of  her  country  afferded,  and  yll  the  bachelor  squires 
who  seemed  eligible.  She  had  been  euii,  i^^il  iO  be  married  a  half 
score  times  in  Ireland^  besides  the  clergyman  .it  Bath  vvho  'u58u  Ke? 
so  ill.  She  had  flirted  all  the  way  to  Madras  with  the  Captain  and 
chief-mate  of  the  Ramchunder  East  Indiaman,  and  had  a  season  at 
the  Presidency  with  her  brother  and  Mrs.  O'Dowd,  who  was  staying 
there,  while  the  Major  of  the  regiment  was  in  command  at  the 
station.  Everybody  admired  her  there :  everybody  danced  with 
her :  but  no  one  proposed  who  was  worth  the  marrying ;  one  or  two 
exceedingly  young  subalterns  sighed  after  her,  and  a  beardless 
civilian  or  two ;  but  she  rejected  these  as  beneath  her  pretensions ; 
and  other  and  younger  virgins  than  Glorvina  were  married  before 
her.  There  are  women,  and  handsome  women  too,  who  have  this 
fortune  in  life.  They  fall  in  love  with  the  utmost  generosity ;  they 
ride  and  walk  with  half  the  Army-list,  though  they  draw  near  to 
forty,  and  yet  the  Misses  O'Grady  are  the  Misses  O'Grady  still : 
Glorvina  persisted  that  but  for  Lady  O'Dowd's  unlucky  quarrel  with 
the  Judge's  lady,  she  would  have  made  a  good  match  at  Madras, 
where  old  Mr.  Chutney,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  Civil  Service 
(and  who  afterwards  married  Miss  Dolby,  a  young  lady  only  thirteen 
years  of  age,  who  had  just  arrived  from  school  in  Europe),  was  just 
at  the  point  of  proposing  to  her. 

Well,  although  Lady  O'Dowd  and  Glorvina  quarrelled  a  great 
number  of  times  every  day,  and  upo<n  almost  every  conceivable  subject 
— indeed,  if  Mick  O'Dowd  had  not  possessed  the  temper  of  an  angel 
two  such  women  constantly  about  his  ears  would  have  driven  him 
out  of  his  senses — yet  they  agreed  between  themselves  on  this  point, 
that  Glorvina  should  marry  Major  Dobbin,  and  were  determined 
that  the  Major  should  have  no  rest  until  the  arrangement  was 
brought  about.  Undismayed  by  forty  or  fifty  previous  defeats, 
Glorvina  laid  siege  to  him.  She  sang  Irish  melodies  at  him  un- 
ceasingly. She  asked  him  so  frequently  and  pathetically.  Will  ye 
come  to  the  bower  1  that  it  is  a  wonder  how  any  man  of  feeling 
could  have  resisted  the  invitation.  She  was  never  tired  of  inquiring, 
if  Sorrow  had  his  young  days  faded ;  and  was  ready  to  listen  and 
weep  like  Desdemona  at  the  stories  of  his  dangers  and  his  campaigns. 
It  has  been  said  that  our  honest  and  dear  old  friend  used  to  perform 
on  the  flute  in  private :  Glorvina  insisted  upon  having  duets  with 
him,  and  Lady  O'Dowd  would  rise  and  artlessly  quit  the  room,  when 
the  young  couple  were  so  engaged.  Glorvina  forced  the  Major  to 
ride  with  her  of  mornings.  The  whole  cantonment  saw  them  set 
out  and  return.     She  was  constantly  writing  notes  over  to  him  at 


420  VANITY    FAIR 

his  house,  borrowing  his  books,  and  scoring  with  her  great  pencil- 
marks  such  passages  of  sentiment  or  humour  as  awakened  her 
sympathy.  She  borrowed  his^lrorses,  his  servants,  his  spoons,  and 
palankin; — no  w^^r.def'TKat  public  rumOtir  assigned  her  to  him.,  and 
tnat' tiie  Major's  sisters  in  England  should  fancy  they  were  about  to 
have  a  sister-in-law. 

Dobbin,  who  was  thus  vigorously  besieged,  was  in  the  mean- 
while in  a  state  of  the  most  odious  tranquillity.  He  used  to  laugh 
when  the  young  fellows  of  the  regiment  joked  him  about  Glorvina's 
manifest  attentions  to  him.  "  Bah  !  "  said  he,  "  she  is  only  keeping 
her  hand  in — she  practises  upon  me  as  she  does  upon  Mrs.  Tozer's 
piano,  because  it's  the  most  handy  instrument  in  the  station.  I  am 
much  too  battered  and  old  for  such  a  fine  young  lady  as  Glorvina." 
And  so  he  went  on  riding  with  her,  and  copying  music  and  verses 
into  her  albums,  and  playing  at  chess  with  her  very  submissively ; 
for  it  is  with  these  simple  anmsements  that  some  officers  in  India 
are  accustomed  to  while  away  their  leisure  moments ;  while  others 
of  a  less  domestic  turn  hunt  hogs,  and  shoot  snipes,  or  gamble  and 
smoke  cheroots,  and  betake  themselves  to  brandy-and-water.  As 
for  Sir  Michael  O'Dowd,  though  his  lady  and  her  sister  both  urged 
him  to  call  upon  the  Major  to  explain  himself,  and  not  keep  on 
torturing  a  poor  innocent  girl  in  that  shameful  way,  the  old  soldier 
refused  point-blank  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  conspiracy. 
"  Faith,  the  Major's  big  enough  to  choose  for  himself,"  Sir  Michael 
said ;  "  he'll  ask  ye  when  he  wants  ye ; " — or  else  he  would  turn 
the  matter  off  jocularly,  declaring  that  "  Dobbin  was  too  young  to 
keep  house,  and  had  written  home  to  ask  lave  of  his  mamma."  Nay, 
he  went  farther,  and  in  private  communications  with  his  Major, 
would  caution  and  rally  him — crying,  "  Mind  your  oi,  Dob,  my  boy, 
them  girls  is  bent  on  mischief — me  Lady  has  just  got  a  box  of  gowns 
from  Europe,  and  there's  a  pink  satin  for  Glorvina,  which  will  finish 
ye.  Dob,  if  it's  in  the  power  of  woman  or  satin  to  move  ye." 

But  the  truth  is,  neither  beauty  nor  fashion  could  conquer  him. 
Our  honest  friend  had  but  one  idea  of  a  woman  in  his  head,  and 
that  one  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  Miss  Glorvina  O'Dowd  in 
pink  satin.  A  gentle  little  woman  in  black,  with  large  eyes  and 
brown  hair,  seldom  speaking,  save  when  spoken  to,  and  then  in  a 
voice  not  the  least  resembling  Miss  Glorvina's — a  soft  young  mother 
tending  an  infant  and  beckoning  the  Major  up  with  a  smile  to  look 
at  him — a  rosy-cheeked  lass  coming  singing  into  the  room  in  Russell 
Square  or  hanging  on  George  Osborne's  arm,  happy  and  loving — 
there  was  but  this  image  that  filled  our  honest  Major's  mind  by  day 
and  by  night,  and  reigned  over  it  always.  Very  likely  Amelia  was 
not  like  the  portrait  the  Major  had  formed  of  her :   there  was  a 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  421 

figure  in  a  book  of  fashions  which  his  sisters  had  in  England,  and 
with  which  William  had  made  away  privately,  pasting  it  into  the 
lid  of  his  desk,  and  fancying  he  ^aw  some  resemblance  to  Mrs. 
Osborne  in  the  print,  whereas  I  have  seen  it,  and  can  vouch  that 
it  is  but  the  picture  of  a  high-waisted  gown  with  an  impossible^ 
uJoU's  face  simpering  over  it — ^^and,  perhaps,  Mr.  Dobbin's  sentimentaT 
^melia  was  no  more  like  the  real  one  than  this  absurd  little  print 
which  he  cherished.  But  what  man  in  love,  of  us,  is  better  in- 
formed ? — or  is  he  i)auch  happier  when  he  sees  and  owns  his  delusion  ? 
Dobbin  was  undet_this  spell.  He  did  not  bother  his  friends  and 
the  public  much  about  his  feelings,  or  indeed  lose  his  natural  rest 
or  appetite  on  account  of  them.  His  head  has  grizzled  since  we 
saw  him  last ;  and  a  line  or  two  of  silver  may  be  seen  in  the  soft 
brown  hair  likewise.  But  his  feelings  are  not  in  the  least  changed 
or  oldened ;  and  his  love  remains  as  fresh  as  a  man's  recollections 
of  boyhood  are. 

We  have  said  how  the  two  Misses  Dobbin  and  Amelia,  the 
Major's  correspondents  in  Europe,  wrote  him  letters  from  England ; 
Mrs.  Osborne  congratulating  him  with  great  candour  and  cordiality 
upon  his  api)roaching  nuptials  with  Miss  O'Dowd. 

"  Your  sister  has  just  kindly  visited  me,"  Amelia  wrote  in  her 
letter,  "  and  informed  me  of  an  interesting  event,  upon  which  I  beg 
to  offer  my  most  sincere  congratulations.  I  hope  the  young  lady 
to  whom  I  hear  you  are  to  be  united  will  in  every  respect  prove 
worthy  of  one  who  is  himself  all  kindness  and  goodness.  The  poor 
widow  has  only  her  prayers  to  offer,  and  her  cordial  cordial  wishes 
for  your  prosperity  !  Georgy  sends  his  love  to  his  dear  godpapa, 
and  hopes  that  you  will  not  forget  him.  I  tell  him  that  you  are 
about  to  form  other  ties,  with  one  who  I  am  sure  merits  all  your 
affection,  but  that,  although  such  ties  must  of  course  be  the  strongest 
and  most  sacred,  and  supersede  all  others,  yet  that  I  am  sure  the 
widow  and  the  child  whom  you  have  ever  protected  and  loved  will 
always  have  a  corner  in  your  heart. ^'  The  letter,  which  has  been 
before  alluded  to,  went  on  in  this  strain,  protesting  throughout  as  to 
the  ^€xtreme_satisfactjoh  of  the  writer. 

This  letter,  which  arrived  by  the  very  same  ship  which  brought 
out  Lady  O'Dowd's  box  of  millinery  from  London  (and  which  you 
may  be  sure  Dobbin  opened  before  any  one  of  the  other  packets 
which  the  mail  brought  him),  put  the  receiver  into  such  a  state  of 
mind  that  Glorvina,  and  her  pink  satin,  and  everything  belonging  to 
her,  became  perfectly  odious  to  him.  The  Major  cursed  the  talk  of 
women  ;  and  the  sex  in  general.  Everything  annoyed  him  that  day 
— the  parade  was  insufferably  hot  and  wearisome.  Good  heavens  ! 
was  a  man  of  intellect  to  waste  his  life,  day  after  day,  inspecting 


4ii  Vanity  FAift 

cross-belts,  and  putting  fools  through  their  manoeuvres  ?  The  sense- 
less chatter  of  the  young  men  at  mess  was  more  than  ever  jarring. 
What  cared  he,  a  man  on  the  high  road  to  forty,  to  know  how  many 
snipes  Lieutenant  Smith  had  shot,  or  what  were  the  performances  of 
Ensign  Brown's  mare  ?  The  jokes  about  the  table  filled  him  with 
shame.  He  was  too  old  to  listen  to  the  banter  of  the  assistant- 
surgeon  and  the  slang  of  the  youngsters,  at  which  old  O'Dowd,  with 
his  bald  head  and  red  face,  laughed  quite  easily.  The  old  man  had 
listened  to  those  jokes  any  time  these  thirty  years— Dobbin  him- 
self had  been  fifteen  years  hearing  them.  And  after  the  boisterous 
dulness  of  the  mess-table,  the  quarrels  and  scandal  of  the  ladies  of 
the  regiment !  It  was  unbearable,  shameful.  "  0  Amelia,  Amelia," 
he  thought,  "you  to  whom  I  have  been  so  faithful — you  reproach 
me !  It  is  because  you  cannot  feel  for  me,  that  I  drag  on  this 
wearisome  life.  And  you  reward  me  after  years  of  devotion  by 
giving  me  your  blessing  upon  my  marriage,  forsooth,  with  this 
flaunting  Irish  girl !  "  Sick  and  sorry  felt  poor  William  :  more  than 
ever  wretched  and  lonely.  He  would  like  to  have  done  with  life 
and  its  vanity  altogether — so  bootless  and  unsatisfactory  the  struggle, 
so  cheerless  and  dreary  the  prospect  seemed  to  him.  He  lay  all  that 
night  sleepless,  and  yearning  to  go  home.  Amelia's  letter  had  fallen 
as  a  blank  upon  him.     No  fidelity,  no  constant  truth  and  passion, 

^  could  move  her  into  warmth.  She  would  not  see  that  he  loved  her. 
Tossing  in  his  bed,  he  spoke  out  to  her.     "  Good  God,  AmeHa  !  "  he 

^__said,  "  dqn't  you  know  that  I  only  love  you  in  the  world — you,  who 
"^  Sir6s^  stone  ^  me — you,  whom  I  tended  through  months  and  months 
of  illness  and  grief,  and  who  bade  me  farewell  with  a  smile  on  your 
face,  and  forgot  me  before  the  door  shut  between  us  !  "  The  native 
servants  lying  outside  his  verandahs  beheld  with  wonder  the  Major, 
so  cold  and  quiet  ordinarily,  at  present  so  passionately  moved  and 
cast  down.  Would  she  have  pitied  him  had  she  seen  himi  He 
read  over  and  over  all  the  letters  which  he  ever  had  from  her — 
letters  of  business  relative  to  the  little  property  which  he  had  made 
her  believe  her  husband  had  left  to  her — brief  notes  of  invitation — 
every  scrap  of  writing  that -she  had  ever  sent  to  him — hgsLjCQld, 

rhow  kind,  how  hopeless,  how  selfisli)they  were  ! 
Had  there  been  some  kind  gentle  soul  near  at  hand  who  could 
read  and  appreciate  this  silent  generous  heart,  who  knows  but  that 
the  reign  of  Amelia  might  have  been  over,  and  that  friend  William's 
love  might  have  flowed  into  a  kinder  channel  1  But  there  was  only 
Glorvina  of  the  jetty  ringlets  with  whom  his  intercourse  was  familiar, 
and  this  dashing  young  woman  was  not  bent  upon  loving  the  Major, 
but  rather  on  making  the  Major  admire  her—'d  most  vain  and  hope- 
less task,  too,  at  least  considering  the  means  that  the  poor  girl  pos- 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  423 

sessed  to  carry  it  out.  She  curled  her  hair  and  showed  her  shoulders 
at  him,  as  much  as  to  say,  Did  ye  ever  see  such  jet  ringlets  and  such 
a  complexion  1  She  grinned  at  hini^so  that  he  might  see  that  every 
tooth  in  her  head  was  sound — and  he  never  heeded  all  these  charms. 
Very  soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  box  of  millinery,  and  perhaps 
indeed  in  honour  of  it.  Lady  O'Dowd  and  the  ladies  of  the  King's 
Regiment  gave  a  ball  to  the  Company's  Regiments  and  the  civilians 
at  the  station.  Glorvina  sported  the  killing  pink  frock,  and  the 
Major,  who  attended  the  party  and  walked  very  ruefully  up  and 
down  the  rooms,  never  so  much  as  perceived  the  pink  garment. 
Glorvina  danced  past  him  in  a  fury  with  all  the  young  subalterns  of 
the  station,  and  the  Major  was  not  in  the  least  jealous  of  her  per- 
formance, or  angry  because  Captain  Bangles  of  the  Cavalry  handed 
her  to  supper.  It  was  not  jealousy,  or  frocks  or  shoulders,  that 
could  move  him,  and  Glorvina  had  nothing  more. 

So  these  two  were  each  exemplifying  the  Vanity  of  this  life,  and 
each  longing  for  what  he  or  ,she  could  not  get.  Glorvina  cried  with 
rage  at  the  failure.  She  had  set  "her  mind  on  the  Major  "  more  than 
on  any  of  the  others,"  she  owned,  sobbing.  "  He'll  break  my  heart, 
he  will,  Peggy,"  she  would  whimper  to  her  sister-in-law  when  they 
were  good  friends ;  "  sure  every  one  of  me  frocks  must  be  taken  in 
— it's  such  a  skeleton  I'm  growing."  Fat  or  thin,  laughing  or  melan- 
choly, on  horseback  or  the  music-stool,  it  was  all  the  same  to  the 
Major.  And  the  Colonel,  puffing  his  pipe  and  listening  to  these  com- 
plaints, would  suggest  that  Glory  should  have  some  black  frocks  out 
in  the  next  box  from  London,  and  told  a  mysterious  story  of  a  lady 
in  Ireland  who  died  of  grief  for  the  loss  of  her  husband  before  she 
got  ere  a  one. 

While  the  Major  was  going  on  in  this  tantalising  way,  not  pro- 
posing, and  declining  to  fall  in  love,  there  came  another  ship  from 
Europe  bringing  letters  on  board,  and  amongst  them  some  more  for 
the  heartless  man.  These  were  home  letters  bearing  an  earlier  post- 
mark than  that  of  the  former  packets,  and  as  Major  Dobbin  recog- 
nised among  his  the  handwriting  of  his  sister,  who  always  crossed 
and  recrossed  her  letters  to  her  brother, — gathered  together  all  the 
possible  bad  news  which  she  could  collect,  abused  him  and  read  him 
lectures  with  sisterly  frankness,  and  always  left  him  miserable  for 
the  day  after  "  dearest  William  "  had  achieved  the  perusal  of  one  of 
her  epistles — the  truth  must  be  told  that  dearest  William  did  not 
hurry  himself  to  break  the  seal  of  Miss  Dobbin's  letter,  but  waited 
for  a  particularly  favourable  day  and  mood  for  doing  so.  A  fort- 
night before,  moreover,  he  had  written  to  scold  her  for  telling  those 
absurd  stories  to  Mrs.  Osborne,  and  had  despatched  a  letter  in  reply 
to  that  lady,  undeceiving  her  with  respect  to  the  reports  concerning 


424  VANITY    FAIR  ' 

him,  and  assuring  her  that  "  he  had  no  sort  of  present  intention  of 
altering  his  condition." 

Two  or  three  nights  after  the  arrival  of  the  second  package  of 
letters,  the  Major  had  passed  the  evening  pretty  cheerfully  at  Lady 
O'Dowd's  house,  where  Glorvina  thought  that  he  listened  with  rather 
more  attention  than  usual  to  the  Meeting  of  the  Wathers,  the  Min- 
sthrel  Boy,  and  one  or  two  other  specimens  of  song  with  which  she 
favoured  him  (the  truth  is,  he  was  no  more  listening  to  Glorvina 
than  to  the  howling  of  the  jackals  in  the  moonlight  outside,  and  the 
delusion  was  hers  as  usual),  and  having  played  his  game  at  chess 
with  her  (cribbage  with  the  Surgeon  was  Lady  O'Dowd's  favourite 
evening  pastime),  Major  Dobbin  took  leave  of  the  Colonel's  family 
at  his  usual  hour,  and  retired  to  his  own  house. 

There  on  his  table,  his  sister's  letter  lay  reproaching  him.  He 
took  it  up,  ashamed  rather  of  his  negligence  regarding  it,  and  pre- 
pared himself  for  a  disagreeable  hour's  communing  with  that  crabbed- 
handed  absent  relative.  ...  It  may  have  been  an  hour  after  the 
Major's  departure  from  the  Colonel's  house — Sir  Michael  was  sleeping 
the  sleep  of  the  just ;  Glorvina  had  arranged  her  black  ringlets  in  the 
innumerable  little  bits  of  paper,  in  which  it  was  her  habit  to  confine 
them;  Lady  O'Dowd,  too,  had  gone  to  her  bed  in  the  nuptial 
chamber,  on  the  ground  floor,  and  had  tucked  her  musquito  curtains 
round  her  fair  form,  when  the  guard  at  the  gates  of  the  Command- 
ing-officer's compound  beheld  Major  Dobbin,  in  the  moonlight, 
rushing  towards  the  house  with  a  swift  step  and  a  very  agitated 
countenance,  and  he  passed  the  sentinel  and  went  up  to  the  windows 
of  the  Colonel's  bedchamber. 

"  O'Dowd — Colonel !  "  said  Dobbin,  and  kept  up  a  great  shouting. 

"  Heavens,  Meejor ! "  said  Glorvina  of  the  curl-papers,  putting 
out  her  head  too,  from  her  window. 

"What  is  it.  Dob,  me  boy?"  said  the  Colonel,  expecting  there 
was  a  fire  in  the  station,  or  that  the  route  had  come  from  head- 
quarters. 

"  I — I  must  have  leave  of  absence.  I  must  go  to  England — on 
the  most  urgent  private  affairs,"  Dobbin  said. 

"  Good  heavens,  what  has  happened  ! "  thought  Glorvina,  trem- 
bling with  all  the  papillotes. 

"  I  want  to  be  off — now — to-night,"  Dobbin  continued ;  and  the 
Colonel  getting  up,  came  out  to  parley  with  him. 

In  the  postscript  of  Miss  Dobbin's  cross-letter,  the  Major  had 
just  come  upon  a  paragraph  to  the  following  effect : — "  I  drove 
yesterday  to  see  your  old  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Osborne.  The  wretched 
place  they  live  at,  since  they  were  bankrupts,  you  know — Mr.  S., 
to  judge  from  a  hr ass-plate  on  the  door  of  his  hut  (it  is  little  better) 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  425 

is  a  coal-merchant.  The  little  boy,  your  godson,  is  certainly  a  fine 
child,  though  forward,  and  inclined  to  be  saucy  and  self-willed.  But 
we  have  taken  notice  of  him  as  you  wish  it,  and  have  introduced  him 
to  his  aunt,  Miss  0.,  who  was  rather  pleased  with  him.  Perhaps 
his  grandpapa — not  the  bankrupt  one,  who  is  almost  doting — but 
Mr.  Osborne,  of  Russell  Square,  may  be  induced  to  relent  towards 
the  child  of  your  friend,  his  erring  and  self-willed  son.  And  Amelia 
will  not  be  ill-disposed  to  give  him  up.  The  widow  is  consoled^ 
and  is  about  to  marry  a  reverend  gentleman,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Binny, 
one  of  the  curates  of  Brompton.  A  poor  match.  But  Mrs.  0. 
is  getting  old,  and  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  grey  in  her  hair — she 
was  in  very  good  spirits  :  and  your  little  godson  overate  himself  at 
our  house.  Mamma  sends  her  love  with  that  of  your  affectionate, 
Ann  Dobbin." 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

A  ROUNDABOUT  CHAPTER  BETWEEN  LONDON  AND 
HAMPSHIRE 

OUR  old  friends  the  Crawleys'  family  house,  in  Great  Gaim< 
Street,  still  bore  over  its  front  the  hatchment  which  hi 
been  placed  there  as  a  token  of  mourning  for  Sir  PitI' 
Crawley's  demise,  yet  this  heraldic  emblem  was  in  itself  a  very 
splendid  and  gaudy  piece  of  furniture,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  mansion 
became  more  brilliant  than  it  had  ever  been  during  the  late  baronet's 
reign.  The  black  outer-coating  of  the  bricks  was  removed,  and  they 
appeared  with  a  cheerful,  blushing  face  streaked  with  white :  the 
old  bronze  lions  of  the  knocker  were  gilt  handsomely,  the  railings 
painted,  and  the  dismallest  house  in  Great  Gaunt  Street  became  the 
smartest  in  the  whole  quarter,  before  the  green  leaves  in  Hampshire 
had  replaced  those  yellowing  ones  which  were  on  the  trees  in  Queen's 
Crawley  avenue  when  old  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  passed  under  them  tor 
the  last  time. 

A  little  woman,  with  a  carriage  to  correspond,  was  perpetually 
seen  about  this  mansion ;  an  elderly  spinster,  accompanied  by  a  little 
boy,  also  might  be  remarked  coming  thither  daily.  It  was  Miss 
Briggs  and  little  Rawdon,  whose  business  it  was  to  see  to  the  inward 
renovation  of  Sir  Pitt's  house,  to  superintend  the  female  band  engaged 
in  stitching  the  blinds  and  hangings,  to  poke  a-nd  rummage  in  the 
drawers  and  cupboards  crammed  with  the  dirty  relics  and  congre- 
gated trumperies  of  a  couple  of  generations  of  Lady  Crawleys,  and 
to  take  inventories  of  the  china,  the  glass,  and  other  properties  in 
the  closets  and  storerooms. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  wis  general-in-chief  over  these  arrange- 
ments, with  full  orders  from  Sir  Pitt  to  sell,  barter,  confiscate,  or 
purchase  furniture  :  and  she  epjoyed  herself  not  a  little  in  an  occu- 
pation which  gave  full  scope  to  her  taste  and  ingenuity.  The  reno- 
vation of  the  house  was  determined  upon  when  Sir  Pitt  came  to 
town  in  November  to  see  his  lawyers,  and  when  he  passed  nearly 
a  vfeek  in  Curzon  Street,  under  the  roof  of  his  affectionate  brother 
and  siater. 

He  ha^  put  up  at  an  hotel  at  first ;  but  Becky,  as  soon  as  she 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  427 

heard  of  the  Baronet's  arrival,  went  off  alone  to  greet  him,  and  re- 
turned in  an  hour  to  Curzon  Street  with  Sir  Pitt  in  the  carriage  by 
her  side.  It  was  impossible  sometimes  to  resist  this  artless  little 
creature's  hospitalities,  so  kindly  Were  they  pressed,  so  frankly  and 
amiably  offered.  Becky  seized  Pitt's  hand  in  a  transport  of  grati- 
tude when  he  agreed  to  come.  "Thank  you,"  she  said,  squeezing 
it,  and  looking  into  the  Baronet's  eyes,  who  blushed  a  good  deal ; 
"  how  happy  this  will  make  Rawdon  !  "  She  bustled  up  to  Pitt's 
bedroom,  leading  on  the  servants,  who  were  carrying  his  trunks 
thither.  She  came  in  herself  laughing,  with  a  coal-scuttle  out  of 
her  own  room. 

A  fire  was  blazing  already  in  Sir  Pitt's  apartment  (it  was  Miss 
Briggs's  room,  by  the  way,  who  was  sent  upstairs  to  sleep  with  the 
maid).  "  I  knew  I  should  bring  you,"  she  said,  with  pleasure  beam- 
ing in  her  glance.  Indeed,  she  was  really  sincerelj  happy  at  having 
him  for  a  guest. 

Becky  made  Rawdon  dine  out  once  or  twice  on  business,  while 
Pitt  stayed  with  them,  and  the  Baronet  passed  the  happy  evening 
alone  with  her  and  Briggs.  She  went  downstairs  to  the  kitchen, 
and  actually  cooked  little  dishes  for  him.  "  Isn't  it  a  good  salmi  1 " 
she  said ;  "I  made  it  for  you.  I  can  make  you  better  dishes  than 
that :  and  will  when  you  come  to  see  me." 

"  Everything  you  do,  you  do  well,"  said  the  Baronet  gallantly. 
"The  salmi  is  excellent  indeed." 

"A  poor  man's  wife,"  Rebecca  replied  gaily,  "must  make  her- 
self useful,  you  know : "  on  which  her  brother-in-law  vowed  that 
"  she  was  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  an  Emperor,  and  that  to  be  skilful 
in  domestic  duties  was  surely  one  of  the  most  charming  of  woman's 
qualities."  And  Sir  Pitt  thought,  with  something  like  mortification, 
of  Lady  Jane  at  home,  and  of  a  certain  pie  which  she  had  insisted  on 
making,  and  serving  to  him  at  dinner — a  most  abominable  pie. 

Besides  the  salmi,  which  was  made  of  Lord  Steyne's  pheasants 
from  his  lordship's  cottage  of  Stillbrook,  Becky  gave  her  brother-in- 
law  a  bottle  of  white  wine,  some  that  Rawdon  had  brought  with 
him  from  France,  and  had  picked  up  for  nothing,  the  little  story- 
teller said ;  whereas  the  liquor  was,  in  truth,  some  White  Hermitage 
from  the  Marquis  of  Steyne's  famous  cellars,  which  brought  fire  into 
the  Baronet's  pallid  cheeks,  and  a  glow  into  his  feeble  frame. 

Then  when  he  had  drunk  up  the  bottle  of  petit  vin  blanc,  she 
gave  him  her  hand  and  took  him  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  made 
him  snug  on  the  sofa  by  the  fire,  and  let  him  talk  as  she  hstened 
with  the  tenderest  kindly  interest,  sitting  by  him,  and  hemming  a 
shirt  for  her  dear  little  boy.  Whenever  Mrs.  Rawdon  wished  to 
be  particularly  humble  and  virtuous,  this  little  shii-t  used  to  come 


428  Vanity  faie 

out  of  her  workbox.  It  had  got  to  be  too  small  for  Rawdon  long 
before  it  was  finished. 

Well,  Rebecca  listened  to  Pitt,  she  talked  to  him,  she  sang  to 
him,  she  coaxed  him,  and  cuddled  him,  so  that  he  found  himself 
more  and  more  glad  every  day  to  get  back  from  the  lawyer's  at 
Gray's  Inn,  to  the  blazing  fire  in  Curzon  Street— a  gladness  in 
which  the  men  of  law  likewise  participated,  for  Pitt's  harangues 
were  of  the  longest — and  so  that  when  he  went  away,  he  felt  quite 
a  pang  at  departing.  How  pretty  she  looked  kissing  her  hand  to 
him  from  the  carriage  and  waving  her  handkerchief  when  he  had 
taken  his  place  in  the  mail !  She  put  the  handkerchief  to  her  eyes 
once.  He  pulled  his  sealskin  cap  over  his,  as  the  coach  drove  away, 
and,  sinking  back,  he  thought  to  himself  how  she  respected  him  and 
how  he  deserved  it,  and  how  Rawdon  was  a  foolish  dull  fellow  who 
didn't  half  appreciate  his  wife :  and  how  mum  and  stupid  his  own 
wife  was  compared  to  that  brilliant  little  Becky.  Becky  had  hinted 
every  one  of  these  things  herself,  perhaps,  but  so  delicately  and 
gently,  that  you  hardly  knew  when  or  where.  And,  before  they 
parted,  it  was  agreed  that  the  house  in  London  should  be  redecorated 
for  the  next  season,  and  that  the  brothers'  families  should  meet  again 
in  the  country  at  Christmas. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  got  a  little  money  out  of  him,"  Rawdon 
said  to  his  wife  moodily,  when  the  Baronet  was  gone.  "  I  should 
like  to  give  something  to  old  Raggles,  hanged  if  I  shouldn't.  It 
ain't  right,  you  know,  that  the  old  fellow  should  be  kept  out  of  all 
his  money.  It  may  be  inconvenient,  and  he  might  let  to  somebody 
else  besides  us,  you  know." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Becky,  "  that  as  soon  as  Sir  Pitt's  affairs  are 
settled,  everybody  will  be  paid,  and  give  him  a  little  something  on 
account.  Here's  a  cheque  that  Pitt  left  for  the  boy,"  and  she  took 
from  her  bag  and  gave  her  husband  a  paper  which  his  brother  had 
handed  over  to  her,  on  behalf  of  the  little  son  and  heir  of  the 
younger  branch  of  the  Crawleys. 

The  truth  is,  she  had  tried  personally  the  ground  on  which  her 
husband  expressed  a  wish  that  she  should  venture — tried  it  ever  so 
delicately,  and  found  it  unsafe.  Even  at  a  hint  about  embarrass- 
ments, Sir  Pitt  Crawley  was  off  and  alarmed.  And  he  began  a  long 
speech,  explaining  how  straitened  he  himself  was  in  money  matters  ; 
how  the  tenants  would  not  pay  ;  how  his  father's  affairs,  and  the 
expenses  attendant  upon  the  demise  of  the  old  gentleman,  had  in- 
volved him  ;  how  he  wanted  to  pay  off  incumbrances  ;  and  how  the 
bankers  and  agents  were  overdrawn ;  and  Pitt  Crawley  ended  by 
making  a  compromise  with  his  sister-in-law,  and  giving  her  a  very 
small  sum  for  the  benefit  of  lier  little  boy. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  419 

Pitt  knew  how  poor  his  brother  and  his  brother's  family  must 
be.  It  could  not  have  escaped  the  notice  of  such  a  cool  and  ex- 
perienced old  diplomatist,  that  Rawdon's  family  had  nothing  to  live 
upon,  and  that  houses  and  carriages  are  not  to  be  kept  for  nothing. 
He  knew  very  well  that  he  was  the  proprietor  or  appropriator  of 
the  money,  which,  according  to  all  proper  calculation,  ought  to  have 
fallen  to  his  younger  brother,  and  he  had,  we  may  be  sure,  some 
secret  pangs  of  remorse  within  him,  which  warned  him  that  he  ought 
to  perform  some  act  of  justice,  or,  let  us  say,  compensation,  towards 
these  disappointed  relations.  A  just,  decent  man,  not  without 
brains,  who  said  his  prayers,  and  knew  his  catechism,  and  did  his 
duty  outwardly  through  life,  he  could  not  be  otherwise  than  aware 
that  something  was  due  to  his  brother  at  his  hands,  and  that  morally 
he  was  Rawdon's  debtor. 

But,  as  one  reads  in  the  columns  of  the  Times  newspaper  every 
now  and  then,  queer  announcements  from  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  £50  from  A.  B.,  or  £10 
from  W.  T.,  as  conscience-money,  on  account  of  taxes  due  by  the 
said  A.  B.  or  W.  T.,  which  payments  the  penitents  beg  the  Right 
Honourable  gentleman  to  acknowledge  through  the  medium  of  the 
public  press ;  so  is  the  Chancellor  no  doubt,  and  the  reader  likewise, 
always  perfectly  sure  that  the  above-named  A.  B.  or  W.  T.  are  only 
paying  a  very  small  instalment  of  what  they  really  owe,  and  that 
the  man  who  sends  up  a  twenty-pound  note  has  very  likely  hundreds 
or  thousands  more  for  which  he  ought  to  account.  Such,  at  least, 
are  my  feelings,  when  I  see  A.  B.  or  W.  T.'s  insufficient  acts  of 
repentance.  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  Pitt  Crawley's  contrition, 
or  kindness,  if  you  will,  towards  his  younger  brother,  by  whom  he 
had  so  much  profited,  was  only  a  very  small  dividend  upon  the 
capital  sum  in  which  he  was  indebted  to  Rawdon.  Not  everybody 
is  willing  to  pay  even  so  much.  To  part  with  money  is  a  sacrifice 
beyond  almost  all  men  endowed  with  a  sense  of  order.  There  is 
scarcely  any  man  alive  who  does  not  think  himself  meritorious  for 
giving  his  neighbom*  five  pounds.  Thriftless  gives,  not  from  a 
beneficent  pleasure  in  giving,  but,  from  a  lazy  delight  in  spending. 
He  would  not  deny  himself  one  enjoyment :  not  his  opera-stall,  not 
his  horse,  not  his  dinner,  not  even  the  pleasure  of  giving  Lazams 
the  five  pounds.  Thrifty,  who  is  good,  wise,  just,  and  owes  no  man  ^j  \ 
a  penny,  turns  from  a  beggar,  haggles  with  a  hackney  coachman, 
or  denies  a  poor  relation,  and  I  doubt  which  is  the  most  selfish  of 
the  two.     Money  has  only  a  diffarent  value  in  the  eyes  of  each. 

So,  in  a  word,  Pitt  Crawley  thought  he  would  do  something  for 
his  brother,  and  then  thought  that  he  would  think  about  it  some 
other  time. 


\ 


430  VANITY,  FAIR 

And  with  regard  to  Becky,  she  was  not  a  woman  who  expected 
too  much  from  the  generosity  of  her  neighbours,  and  so  was  quite 
content  with  all  that  Pitt  Crawley  had  done  for  her.  She  was 
acknowledged  by  the  head  of  the  family.  If  Pitt  would  not  give 
her  anything,  he  would  get  something  for  her  some  day.  If  she  got 
no  money  from  her  brother-in-law,  she  got  what  was  as  good  as 
money — credit.  Raggles  was  made  rather  easy  in  his  mind  by  the 
spectacle  of  the  union  between  the  brothers,  by  a  small  payment  on 
the  spot,  and  by  the  promise  of  a  much  larger  sum  speedily  to  be 
assigned  to  him.  And  Rebecca  told  Miss  Briggs,  whose  Christmas 
dividend  upon  the  little  sum  lent  by  her,  Becky  paid  with  an  air  of 
candid  joy,  and  as  if  her  exchequer  was  brimming  over  with  gold — 
Rebecca,  we  say,  told  Miss  Briggs,  in  strict  confidence,  that  she  had 
conferred  with  Sir  Pitt,  who  was  famous  as  a  financier,  on  Briggs's 
special  behalf,  as  to  the  most  profitable  investment  of  Miss  B.'s 
remaining  capital;  that  Sir  Pitt,  after  much  consideration,  had 
thought  of  a  most  safe  and  advantageous  way  in  which  Briggs  could 
lay  out  her  money;  that,  being  especially  interested  in  her  as  an 
attached  friend  of  the  late  Miss  Crawley,  and  of  the  whole  family, 
and  that  long  before  he  left  town,  he  had  recommended  that  she 
should  be  ready  with  the  money  at  a  moment's  notice,  so  as  to 
purchase  at  the  most  favourable  opportunity  the  shares  which  Sir 
Pitt  had  in  his  eye.  Poor  Miss  Briggs  was  very  grateful  for  this 
mark  of  Sir  Pitt's  attention— it  came  so  unsolicited,  she  said,  for 
she  never  should  have  thought  of  removing  the  money  from  the 
funds — and  the  delicacy  enhanced  the  kindness  of  the  office;  and 
she  promised  to  see  her  man  of  business  immediately,  and  be  ready 
with  her  little  cash  at  the  proper  hour. 

And  this  worthy  woman  was  so  grateful  for  the  kindness  of 
Rebecca  in  the  matter,  and  for  that  of  her  generous  benefactor,  the 
Colonel,  that  she  went  out  and  spent  a  great  part  of  her  half-year's 
dividend  in  the  purchase  of  a  black  velvet  coat  for  little  Rawdon, 
who,  by  the  way,  was  grown  almost  too  big  for  black  velvet  now, 
and  was  of  a  size  and  age  befitting  him  for  the  assumption  of  the 
virile  jacket  and  pantaloons. 

He  was  a  fine  open-faced  boy,  with  blue  eyes  and  waving  flaxen 
hair,  sturdy  in  limb,  but  generous  and  soft  in  heart :  fondly  attach- 
ing himself  to  all  who  were  good  to  him — to  the  pony — to  Lord 
Southdown,  who  gave  him  the  horse — (he  used  to  blush  and  glow 
all  over  when  he  saw  that  kind  young  nobleman) — to  the  groom 
who  had  charge  of  the  pony — to  Molly,  the  cook,  who  crammed 
him  with  ghost  stories  at  night,  and  with  good  things  from  the 
dinner — to  Briggs,  whom  he  plagued  and  laughed  at — and  to  his 
father  aspecially,  whose  attachment  towards  the  lad  was  curious  too 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  431 

to  witness.     Here,  as  he  grew  to  be  about  eight  years  old,  his 
attachments  may  be  said  to  have  ended.     The  beautiful  mother- 
vision  had  faded  away  after  a  whije.     During  near  two  years  she    /  y 
had  scarcely  spoken  to  the  child.     She  disliked  him.     He  had  the  /    ^^/^ 
measles  and  the  hooping-cough.     He  bored  her.     One  day  when  he  v_ 
was  standing  at  the  landing-place,  having  crept  down  from  the  upper      ^ 
regions,   attracted  by  the  sound  of  his  mother's  voice,  who  was 
singing  to  Lord  Steyne,  the  drawing-room  door  opening  suddenly,     '■ 
discovered  the  little  spy,  who  but  a  moment  before  had  been  rapt    / 
in  delight,  and  listening  to  the  music. 

His  mother  came  out  and  struck  him  violently  a  couple  of  boxes 
on  the  ear.  He  heard  a  laugh  from  the  Marquis  in  the  inner  room 
(who  was  amused  by  this  free  and  artless  exhibition  of  Becky's 
temper),  and  fled  down  below  to  his  friends  of  the  kitchen,  bursting 
in  an  agony  of  grief. 

"It  is  not  because  it  hurts  me,"  little  Rawdon  gasped  out — 
"  only — only  " — sobs  and  tears  wound  up  the  sentence  in  a  storm. 
It  was  the  little  boy's  heart  that  was  bleeding.     "  Why  mayn't  I 
hear  her  singing  %     Why  don't  she  ever  sing  to  me — as  she  does  to 
that  bald-headed  man  with  the  large  teeth?"     He  gasped  out  at 
various  intervals  these  exclamations  of  rage  and  grief.     The  cook    \ 
looked  at  the  housemaid :  the  housemaid  looked  knowingly  at  the  foot-     I 
man — the  awful  kitchen  inquisition  which  sits  in  judgment  in  every  V 
house,  and  knows  everything — sate  on  Rebecca  at  that  moment. 

After  this  incident,  the  mother's  dislike  increased  to  hatred  :  the 
consciousness  that  the  child  was  in  the  house  was  a  reproach  and  a 
pain  to  her.     His  very  sight  annoyed  her.     Fear,  doubt,  and  resist- 
ance sprang  up  too,  in  the  boy's  own  bosom.     They  were  separated^- 
from  that  day  of  the  boxes  on  the  ear.  •^'^ 

Lord  Steyne  also  heartily  disliked  the  boy.  When  they  met  by 
mischance,  he  made  sarcastic  bows  or  remarks  to  the  child,  or  glared 
at  him  with  savage-looking  eyes.  Rawdon  used  to  stare  him  in  the 
face,  and  double  his  little  fists  in  return.  He  knew  his  enemy ;  and 
this  gentleman,  of  all  who  came  to  the  house,  was  the  one  who 
angered  him  most.  One  day  the  footman  found  him  squaring  his 
fi^ts  at  Lord  Steyne's  hat  in  the  hall.  The  footman  told  the  circum- 
stance as  a  good  joke  to  Lord  Steyne's  coachman ;  that  officer  im- 
parted it  to  Lord  Steyne's  gentleman,  and  to  the  servants'  hall  in 
general.  And  very  soon  afterwards,  when  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley 
made  her  appearance  at  Gaunt  House,  the  porter  who  unbarred  the 
gates,  the  servants  of  all  uniforms  in  the  hall,  the  functionaries  in 
white  waistcoats,  who  bawled  out  from  landing  to  landing  the  names 
of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  knew  about  her,  or  fancied 
they  did.     The  man  who  brought  her  refreshment  and  stood  behind 


432 


VANITY    FAIR 


( 


her  chair,  had  talked  her  character  over  with  the  large  gentleman  in 
motley-coloured  clothes  at  his  side.  Bon  Dieu !  it  is  awful,  that 
servants'  inquisition !  You  see  a  woman  in  a  great  party  in  a 
splendid  saloon,  surrounded  by  faithful  admirers,  distributing  spark- 
ling glances,  dressed  to  perfection,  curled,  rouged,  smiling  and  happy  : 
— Discovery  walks  respectfully  up  to  her,  in  the  shape  of  a  huge 
powdered  man  with  large  calves  and  a  tray  of  ices — with  Calumny 
(which  is  as  fatal  as  truth) — behind  him,  in  the  shape  of  the  hulking 
fellow  carrying  the  wafer-biscuits.  Madam,  your  secret  will  be  talked 
over  by  those  men  at  their  club  at  the  public-house  to-night.  Jeames 
will  tell  Chawles  his  notions  about  you  over  their  pipes  and  pewter 
beer-pots.  Some  people  ought  to  have  mutes  for  servants  in  Vanity 
Fair — mutes  who  could  not  write.  If  you  are  guilty,  tremble. 
That  fellow  behind  your  chair  may  be  a  Janissary  with  a  bow-string 
in  his  plush  breeches  pocket.  If  you  are  not  guilty,  have  a  care  of 
appearances :  which  are  as  ruinous  as  guilt. 

"Was  ReHecca  guilty  or  notl"  The  Vehmgericht  of  the  ser- 
vants' hall  had  pronounced  against  her. 

And,  I  shame  to  say,  she  would  not  have  got  credit  had  they 
not  believed  her  to  be  guilty.  It  was  the  sight  of  the  Marquis  of 
Steyne's  carriage-lamps  at  her  door,  contemplated  by  Haggles,  burning 
in  the  blackness  of  midnight,  "  that  kep  him  up,"  as  he  afterwards 
said  ;  that  even  more  than  Rel)ecca's  arts  and  coaxings. 

And  so — guiltless  very  likely — she  was  writhing  and  pushing 
onward  towards  what  they  call  "a  position  in  society,"  and  the 
servants  were  pointing  at  her  as  lost  and  ruined.  So  you  see 
Molly,  the  housemaid,  of  a  morning,  watching  a  spider  in  the 
door-post  lay  his  thread  and  laboriously  crawl  up  it,  until,  tired 
of  the  sport,  she  raises  her  broom  and  sweeps  away  the  thread  and 
the  artificer. 

A  day  or  two  before  Christmas,  Becky,  her  husband,  and  her 
son,  made  ready  and  went  to  pass  the  holidays  at  the  seat  of  their 
ancestors  at  Queen's  Crawley.  Becky  would  have  liked  to  leave  the 
little  brat  behind,  and  would  have  done  so  but  for  Lady  Jane's 
urgent  invitations  to  the  youngster ;  and  the  symptoms  of  revolt 
and  discontent  which  Rawdon  manifested  at  her  neglect  of  her  son. 
"Jle's  the  finest  boy  in  England,"  the  father  said,  in  a  tone  of 
reproach  to  her,  "and  you  don't  seem  to  care  for  him,  Becky,  as 
much  as  you  do  for  your  spaniel.  He  shan't  bother  you  much :  at 
home  he  will  be  away  from  you  in  the  nursery,  and  he  shall  go 
outside  on  the  coach  with  me." 

"  Where  you  go  yourself  because  you  want  to  smoke  those  filthy 
cigars,"  replied  Mrs.  Rawdon. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  433 

"I  remember  when  you  liked  'em  though,"  answered  the 
husband. 

Becky  laughed  :  she  was  almost^lways  good-humoured, 
was  when  I  was  on  my  promotion,  Goosey,"  she  said. 
Rawdon  outside  with  you,  and  give  him  a  cigar  too  if  you  like." 

Rawdon  did  not  warm  his  little  son  for  the  winter's  journey  in 
this  way,  but  he  and  Briggs  wrapped  up  the  child  in  shawls  and 
comforters,  and  he  was  hoisted  respectfully  on  to  the  roof  of  the 
coach  in  the  dark  morning,  under  the  lamps  of  the  White  Horse 
Cellar :  and  with  no  small  delight  he  watched  the  dawn  rise,  and 
made  his  first  journey  to  the  place  which  his  father  still  called 
home.     It  was  a  journey  of  infinite  pleasure  to  the  boy,  to  whom 
the  incidents  of  the  road  afforded  endless  interest :  his  father  answer- 
ing to  him  all  questions  connected  with  it,  and  telling  him  who 
lived  in  the  great  white  house  to  the  right,  and  whom  the  park 
belonged  to.     His  mother,  inside  the  vehicle,  with  her  maid  and 
her  fiu-s,  her  wrappers,  and  her  scent  bottles,  made  such  a  to-do  A 
that  you  would  have  thought  she  never  had  been  in  a  stage-coach  / 
before — much  less,  that  she  had  been  turned  out  of  this  very  one   t 
to  make  room  for  a  paying  passenger  on  a  certain  journey  performed    \ 
some  half-score  years  ago. 

It  was  dark  again  when  little  Rawdon  was  wakened  up  to  enter 
his  uncle's  carriage  at  Mudbury,  and  he  sate  and  looked  out  of  it 
wondering  as  the  great  iron  gates  flew  open,  and  at  the  white  trunks 
of  the  limes  as  they  swept  by,  until  they  stopped,  at  length,  before 
the  light  windows  of  the  Hall,  which  were  blazing  and  comfortable 
with  Christmas  welcome.  The  hall-door  was  flung  open — a  big  fire 
was  burning  in  the  great  old  fireplace— a  carpet  was  down  over  the 
chequered  black  flags — "  It's  the  old  Turkey  one  that  used  to  be  in 
the  Ladies'  Gallery,"  thought  Rebecca,  and  the  next  instant  was 
kissing  Lady  Jane. 

She  and  Sir  Pitt  performed  the  same  salute  with  great  gravity ; 
but  Rawdon  having  been  smoking,  hung  back  rather  from  his  sister- 
in-law,  whose  two  children  came  up  to  their  cousin :  and,  while 
Matilda  held  out  her  hand  and  kissed  him,  Pitt  Binkie  Southdown, 
the  son  and  heir,  stood  aloof  rather,  and  examined  him  as  a  little 
dog  does  a  big  dog. 

Then  the  kind  hostess  conducted  her  guests  to  the  snug  apart- 
ments blazing  with  cheerful  fires.  Then  the  young  ladies  came  and 
knocked  at  Mrs.  Rawdon's  door,  under  the  pretence  that  they  were 
desirous  to  be  useful,  but  in  reality  to  have  the  pleasure  of  inspect- 
ing the  contents  of  her  band  and  bonnet  boxes,  and  her  dresses 
which,  though  black,  were  of  the  newest  London  fashion.  And 
they  told  her  how  much  the  Hall  was  changed  for  the  better,  and 


^ 


^ 


434  VANITY    FAIR 

how  old  Lady  Southdown  was  gone,  and  how  Pitt  was  taking  his 
station  in  the  county,  as  became  a  Crawley,  in  fact.  Then  the 
great  dinner-bell  having  rung,  the  family  assembled  at  dinner,  at 
which  meal  Rawdon  Junior  was  placed  by  his  aunt,  the  good-natured 
lady  of  the  house ;  Sir  Pitt  being  uncommonly  attentive  to  his 
sister-in-law  at  his  own  right  hand. 

Little  Rawdon  exhibited  a  fine  appetite,  and  showed  a  gentleman- 
like behaviour. 

"  I  like  to  dine  here,"  he  said  to  his  aunt  when  he  had  completed 
his  meal,  at  the  conclusion  of  which,  and  after  a  decent  grace  by  Sir 
Pitt,  the  younger  son  and  heir  was  introduced,  and  was  perched  on 
a  high  chair  by  the  Baronet's  side,  while  the  daughter  took  posses- 
sion of  the  place  and  the  little  wine-glass  prepared  for  her  near  her 
mother.  "  I  like  to  dine  here,"  said  Rawdon  Minor,  looking  up  at 
his  relation's  kind  face. 

"  Why  1 "  said  the  good  Lady  Jane. 

"  L_di_ne  in  the  kitchen  when  I  am  at  home,"  replied  Rawdon 
Minor,  "or  else  with  Briggs."  But  Becky  was  so  engaged  with  the 
Baronet,  her  host,  pouring  out  a  flood  of  compliments  and  delights 
and  raptures,  and  admiring  young  Pitt  Binkie,  whom  she  declared 
to  be  the  most  beautiful,  intelligent,  noble-looking  little  creature, 
and  so  like  his  father,  that  she  did  not  hear  the  remarks  of  her  own 
flesh  and  blood  at  the  other  end  of  the  broad  shining  table. 

As  a  guest,  and  it  being  the  first  night  of  his  arrival,  Rawdon 
the  Second  was  allowed  to  sit  up  until  the  hour  when  tea  being 
over,  and  a  great  gilt  book  being  laid  on  the  table  before  Sir  Pitt, 
all  the  domestics  of  the  family  streamed  in,  and  Sir  Pitt  read 
prayers.  It  was  the  first  time  the  poor  little  boy  had  ever  witnessed 
or  heard  of  such  a  ceremonial. 

The  house  had  been  much  improved  even  since  the  Baronet's 
brief  reign,  and  was  pronoimced  by  Becky  to  be  perfect,  charming, 
delightful,  when  she  surveyed  it  in  his  company.  As  for  little 
Rawdon,  who  examined  it  with  the  children  for  his  guides,  it 
seemed  to  him  a  perfect  palace  of  enchantment  and  wonder.  There 
were  long  galleries,  and  ancient  state  bedrooms,  there  were  pictures 
and  old  china,  and  armour.  There  were  the  rooms  in  which 
grandpapa  died,  and  by  which  the  children  walked  with  terrified 
looks.  "  Who  was  grandpapa  1 "  he  asked ;  and  they  told  him  how 
he  used  to  be  very  old,  and  used  to  be  wheeled  about  in  a  garden- 
chair,  and  they,  showed  him  the  garden-chair  one  day  rotting  in  the 
out-house  in  which  it  had  lain  since  the  old  gentleman  had  been 
wheeled  away  yonder  to  the  church,  of  which  the  spire  was  glittering 
over  the  park  elms. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  435 

The  brothers  had  good  occupation  for  several  mcmings  in 
examining  the  improvements  which  had  been  effected  by  Sir  Pitt's 
genius  and  economy.  And  as  they  walked  or  rode,  and  looked  at 
them,  they  could  talk  without  too^much  boring  each  other.  And 
Pitt  took  care  to  tell  Rawdon  what  a  heavy  outlay  of  money  these 
improvements  had  occasioned ;  and  that  a  man  of  landed  and  funded 
property  was  often  very  hard  pressed  for  twenty  pounds.  "  There 
is  that  new  lodge  gate,"  said  Pitt,  pointing  to  it  humbly  with  the 
bamboo  cane,  "  I  can  no  more  pay  for  it  before  the  dividends  in 
January  than  I  can  fly." 

"I  can  lend  you,  Pitt,  till  then,"  Rawdon  answered  rather 
ruefully ;  and  they  went  in  and  looked  at  the  restored  lodge,  where 
the  famgily__arins,  were  just  new  scraped  in  stone;  and  where  old 
Mrs.  Lock,  for  the  first  time  these  many  long  years,  had  tight  doors, 
sound  roofs,  and  whole  windows. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

BETWEEN  HAMPSHIRE  AND  LONDON 

SIR  PITT  CRAWLEY  had  done  more  than  repair  fences  and 
restore  dilapidated  lodges  on  the  Queen's  Crawley  estate.  Like 
a  wise  man  he  had  set  to  work  to  rebuild  the  injured  popu- 
larity of  his  house,  and  stop  up  the  gaps  and  ruins  in  which  his 
name  had  been  left  by  his  disreputable  and  thriftless  old  predecessor. 
He  was  elected  for  the  borough  speedily  after  his  father's  demise ;  a 
magistrate,  a  member  of  Parliament,  a  coimty  magnate  and  repre- 
sentative of  an  ancient  family,  he  made  it  his  duty  to  show  himself 
before  the  Hampshire  public,  subscribed  handsomely  to  the  county 
charities,  called  assiduously  upon  all  the  county  folk,  and  laid  him- 
self out  in  a  word  to  take  that  position  in  Hampshire,  and  in  the 
Empire  afterwards,  to  which  he  thought  his  prodigious  talents  justly 
entitled  him.  Lady  Jane  was  instructed  to  be  friendly  with  the 
Fuddlestones,  and  the  Wapshots,  and  the  other  famous  baronets, 
their  neighbours.  Their  carriages  might  frequently  be  seen  in  the 
Queen's  Crawley  avenue  now ;  they  dined  pretty  frequently  at  the 
Hall  (where  the  cookery  was  so  good,  that  it  was  clear  Lady  Jane 
very  seldom  had  a  hand  in  it),  and  in  return  Pitt  and  his  wife  most 
energetically  dined  out  in  all  sorts  of  weather,  and  at  all  sorts  of 
distances.  For  though  Pitt  did  not  care  for  joviality,  being  a  frigid 
man  of  poor  health  and  appetite,  yet  he  considered  that  to  be  hospi- 
table and  condescending  was  quite  incumbent  on  his  station,  and 
every  time  that  he  got  a  headache  from  too  long  an  after-dinner 
sitting,  he  felt  that  he  was  a  martyr  to  duty.  He  talked  about 
crops,  corn-laws,  politics,  with  the  best  country  gentlemen.  He 
(who  had  been  formerly  inclined  to  be  a  sad  freethinker  on  these 
points)  entered  into  poaching  and  game  preserving  with  ardour. 
He  didn't  hunt :  he  wasn't  a  hunting  man  :  he  was  a  man  of  books 
and  peaceful  habits :  but  he  thought  that  the  breed  of  horses  must 
be  kept  up  in  the  country,  and  that  the  breed  of  foxes  must  there- 
fore be  looked  to,  and  for  his  part,  if  his  friend.  Sir  Huddlestone 
Fuddlestone,  liked  to  draw  his  country,  and  meet  as  of  old  the  F. 
hounds  used  to  do  at  Queen's  Crawley,  he  should  be  happy  to  see 
him  there,  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  Fuddlestone  hunt.     And  to 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  437 

Lady  Southdown's  dismay,  too,  he  became  more  orthodox  in  his 
tendencies  every  day :  gave  up  preaching  in  public  and  attending 
meeting-houses :  went  stoutly  to  church  :  called  on  the  Bishop,  and 
all  the  Clergy  at  Winchester:  ana  made  no  objection  when  the 
Venerable  Archdeacon  Trumper  asked  for  a  game  of  whist.  What 
pangs  must  have  been  those  of  Lady  Southdown,  and  what  an  utter 
castaway  she  must  have  thought  her  son-in-law  for  permitting  such 
a  godless  diversion  !  and  when,  on  the  return  of  the  family  from  an 
oratorio  at  Winchester,  the  Baronet  announced  to  the  young  ladies 
that  he  should  next  year  very  probably  take  them  to  the  "  county 
balls,"  they  worshipped  him  for  his  kindness.  Lady  Jane  was  only 
too  obedient,  and  perhaps  glad  herself  to  go.  The  Dowager  wrote 
off  the  direst  descriptions  of  her  daughter's  worldly  behaviour  to  the 
authoress  of  the  "Washerwoman  of  Finchley  Common  "  at  the  Cape ; 
and  her  house  in  Brighton  being  about  this  time  unoccupied,  returned 
to  that  wat«ring-place,  her  absence  being  not  very  much  deplored 
by  her  children.  We  may  suppose,  too,  that  Rebecca,  on  paying  a 
second  visit  to  Queen's  Crawley,  did  not  feel  particularly  grieved  at 
the  absence  of  the  lady  of  the  medicine  chest ;  though  she  wrote 
a  Christmas  letter  to  her  Ladyship,  in  which  she  respectfully  recalled 
herself  to  Lady  Southdown's  recollection,  spoke  with  gratitude  of 
the  delight  which  her  Ladyship's  conversation  had  given  her  on  the 
former  visit,  dilated  on  the  kindness  with  which  her  Ladyship  had 
treated  her  in  sickness,  and  declared  that  everything  at  Queen's 
Crawley  reminded  her  of  her  absent  friend. 

A  great  part  of  the  altered  demeanour  and  popularity  of  Sir  Pitt 
Crawley  might  have  been  traced  to  the  counsels  of  that  astute  little 
lady  of  Curzon  Street.  "  You  remain  a  baronet — you  consent  to 
be  a  mere  country  gentleman,"  she  said  to  him,  while  he  had  been 
her  guest  in  London.  "  No,  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  I  know  you  better. 
I  know  your  talents  and  your  ambition.  You  fancy  you  hide  them 
both  :  but  you  can  conceal  neither  from  me.  I  showed  Lord  Steyne 
your  pamphlet  on  Malt.  He  was  familiar  with  it :  and  said  it  was 
in  the  opinion  of  the  whole  Cabinet  the  most  masterly  thing  that 
had  appeared  on  the  subject.  The  Ministry  has  its  eye  upon  you, 
and  I  know  what  you  want.  You  want  to  distinguish  yourself  in 
Parliament ;  every  one  says  you  are  the  finest  speaker  in  England 
(for  your  speeches  at  Oxford  are  still  remembered).  You  want  to 
be  Member  for  the  County,  where,  with  your  own  vote  and  your 
borough  at  your  back,  you  can  command  anything.  And  you  want 
to  be  Baron  Crawley  of  Queen's  Crawley,  and  will  be  before  you 
die.  I  saw  it  all.  I  could  read  your  heart,  Sir  Pitt.  If  I  had  a 
husband  who  possessed  your  intellect  as  he  does  your  name,  I  some- 
times think  I  should  not  be  unworthy  of  him — but — but  I  am  your 


438  VANITY    FAIR 

kinswoman  now,"  she  added  with  a  laugh.  "  Poor  httle  penniless 
I  have  got  a  little  interest — and  who  knows,  perhaps  the  mouse 
may  be  able  to  aid  the  lion." 

Pitt  Crawley  was  amazed  and  enraptured  with  her  speech. 
"  How  that  woman  comprehends  me  !  "  he  said.  "  I  never  could 
get  Jane  to  read  three  pages  of  the  Malt-pamphlet.  She  has  no 
idea  that  I  have  commanding  talents  or  secret  ambition.  So  they 
remember  my  speaking  at  Oxford,  do  they  1  The  rascals  !  now  that 
I  represent  my  borough  and  may  sit  for  the  county,  they  begin  to 
recollect  me !  Why,  Lord  Steyne  cut  me  at  the  levee  last  yeaj : 
they  are  beginning  to  find  out  that  Pitt  Crawley  is  some  one  at  last. 
Yes,  the  man  was  always  the  same  whom  these  people  neglected : 
it  was  only  the  opportunity  that  was  wanting,  and  I  will  show  them 
now  that  I  can  speak  and  act  as  well  as  write.  Achilles  did  not 
declare  himself  until  they  gave  him  the  sword.  I  hold  it  now,  and 
the  world  shall  yet  hear  of  Pitt  Crawley." 

Therefore  it  was  that  this  roguish  diplomatist  has  grown  so 
hospitable ;  that  he  was  so  civil  to  oratorios  and  hospitals ;  so  kind 
to  Deans  and  Chapters ;  so  generous  in  giving  and  accepting  dinners; 
so  uncommonly  gracious  to  farmers  on  market-days ;  and  ^  much 
interested  about  county  business ;  and  that  the  Christmas  at  the 
Hall  was  the  gayest  which  had  been  known  there  for  many  a 
long  day. 

On  Christmas  Day  a  great  family  gathering  took  place.  All  the 
Crawleys  from  the  Rectory  came  to  dine.  Rebecca  was  as  frank 
and  fond  of  Mrs.  Bute,  as  if  the  other  had  never  been  her  enemy : 
she  was  affectionately  interested  in  the  dear  girls,  and  surprised  at 
the  progress  which  they  had  made  in  music  since  her  time ;  and  in- 
sisted upon  encoring  one  of  the  duets  out  of  the  great  song-books 
which  Jim,  grumbling,  had  been  forced  to  bring  under  his  arm  from 
the  Rectory.  Mrs.  Bute,  perforce,  was  obliged  to  adopt  a  decent 
demeanour  towards  the  little  adventuress — of  course  being  free  to 
discourse  with  her  daughters  afterwards  about  the  absiu-d  respect 
with  which  Sir  Pitt  treated  his  sister-in-law.  But  Jim,  who 
had  sate  next  to  her  at  dinner,  declared  she  was  a  trump :  and 
one  and  all  of  the  Rector's  family  agreed  that  the  little  Rawdon 
was  a  fine  boy.  They  respected  a  possible  baronet  in  the  boy, 
between  whom  and  the  title  there  was  only  the  little  sickly  pale 
Pitt  Binkie. 

The  children  were  very  good  friends.  Pitt  Binkie  was  too  little 
a  dog  for  such  a  big  dog  as  Rawdon  to  play  with :  and  Matilda 
being  only  a  girl,  of  course  not  fit  companion  for  a  young  gentleman 
who  was  near  eight  years  old,  and  going  into  jackets  very  soon. 
He  took  the  command  of  this  small  party  at  once — the  little  girl 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  439 

and  the  little  boy  following  him  about  with  great  reverence  at  such 
times  as  he  condescended  to  sport  with  them.  His  happiness  and 
pleasure  in  the  country  were  extreme.  The  kitchen  garden  pleased 
him  hugely,  the  flowers  moderately,  out  the  pigeons  and  the  poultry, 
and  the  stables  when  he  was  allowed  to  visit  them,  were  delightful 
objects  to  liim.  He  resisted  being  kissed  by  the  Misses  Crawley : 
but  he  allowed  Lady  Jane  sometimes  to  embrace  him  :  and  it  was 
by  her  side  that  he  liked  to  sit  when,  the  signal  to  retire  to  the 
drawing-room  being  given,  the  ladies  left  the  gentlemen  to  their 
claret  —  by  her  side  rather  than  by  his  mother.  For  Rebecca, 
seeing  that  tenderness  was  the  fashion,  called  Rawdon  to  her  one 
evening,  and  stooped  down  and  kissed  him  in  the  presence  of  all 
the  ladies.  n 

He  looked  her  full  in  the  face  after  the  operation,  trembling   \ 
and  tiuning  very  red,  as  his  wont  was  when  moved.     "  You  never     />* 
kiss  me  at  home,  mamma,"  he  said ;  at  which  there  was  a  general      \ 
silence  and  consternation,   and  a  by  no  means  pleasant   look  in        ) 
Becky's  eyes. 

Rawdon  was  fond  of  his  sister-in-law,  for  her  regard  for  his  son. 
Lady  Jane  and  Becky  did  not  get  on  quite  so  well  at  this  visit  as 
on  occasion  of  the  former  one,  when  the  Colonel's  wife  was  bent 
upon  pleasing.  Those  two  speeches  of  the  child  struck  rather  a 
chill.     Perhaps  Sir  Pitt  was  mther  jtoo^attentive  to-her.  ^ 

But  Rawdon,  as  "Became  his  age  and  size,  was  fonder  of  the 
society  of  the  men  than  of  the  women ;  and  never  wearied  of  accom- 
panying his  sire  to  the  stables,  whither  the  Colonel  retired  to  smoke 
his  cigar — Jim,  the  Rector's  son,  sometimes  joining  his  cousin  in 
that  and  other  amusements.  He  and  the  Baronet's  keeper  were 
very  close  friends,  their  mutual  taste  for  "dawgs"  bringing  them 
much  together.  On  one  day,  Mr.  James,  the  Colonel,  and  Horn, 
the  keeper,  went  and  shot  pheasants,  taking  little  Rawdon  with 
them.  On  another  most  blissful  morning,  these  four  gentlemen 
partook  of  the  amusement  of  rat-hunting  in  a  bam,  than  which 
sport  Rawdon  as  yet  had  never  seen  anything  more  noble.  They 
stopped  up  the  ends  of  certain  drains  in  the  bam,  into  the  other 
openings  of  which  feiTets  were  inserted;  and  then  stood  silently 
aloof,  with  uplifted  stakes  in  their  hands,  and  an  anxious  little 
terrier  (Mr.  James's  celebrated  "dawg"  Forceps,  indeed),  scarcely 
breathing  from  excitement,  listening  motionless  on  three  legs  to 
the  faint  squeaking  of  the  rats  below.  Desperately  bold  at  last, 
the  persecuted  animals  bolted  above-ground  :  the  terrier  accounted 
for  one,  the  keeper  for  another;  Rawdon,  from  flurry  and  excite- 
ment, missed  his  rat,  but  on  the  other  hand  he  half-murdered  a 
ferret. 


440  VAITITY    PAIR 

But  the  greatest  day  of  all  was  that  on  which  Sir  Huddlestone 
Fuddlestone's  hounds  met  upon  the  lawn  at  Queen's  Crawley. 

That  was  a  famous  sight  for  little  Rawdon.  At  half-past  t«n, 
Tom  Moody,  Sir  Huddlestone  Fuddlestone's  huntsman,  was  seen 
trotting  up  the  avenue,  followed  by  the  noble  pack  of  hounds  in  a 
compact  body — the  rear  being  brought  up  by  the  two  whips  clad  in 
stained  scarlet  frocks — light  hard-featured  lads  on  well-bred  lean 
horses,  possessing  marvellous  dexterity  in  casting  the  points  of  their 
long  heavy  whips  at  the  thinnest  part  of  any  dog's  skin  who  dares 
to  straggle  from  the  main  body,  or  to  take  the  slightest  notice,  or 
even  so  much  as  wink  at  the  hares  and  rabbits  starting  under 
their  noses. 

Next  comes  boy  Jack,  Tom  Moody's  son,  who  weighs  five  stone, 
measures  eight-and-forty  inches,  and  will  never  be  any  bigger.  He 
is  perched  on  a  large  raw-boned  hunter,  half-covered  by  a  capacious 
saddle.  This  animal  is  Sir  Huddlestone  Fuddlestone's  favourite 
horse — the  Nob.  Other  horses,  ridden  by  other  small  boys,  arrive 
from  time  to  time,  awaiting  their  masters,  who  will  come  cantering 
on  anon. 

Tom  Moody  rides  up  to  the  door  of  the  Hall,  where  he  is 
welcomed  by  the  butler,  who  ofters  him  drink,  which  he  declines. 
He  and  his  pack  then  draw  off  into  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  lawn, 
where  the  dogs  roll  on  the  grass,  and  play  or  growl  angrily  at  one 
another,  ever  and  anon  breaking  out  into  furious  fight  speedily  to  be 
quelled  by  Tom's  voice,  unmatched  at  rating,  or  the  snaky  thongs  of 
the  whips. 

Many  young  gentlemen  canter  up  on  thoroughbred  hacks, 
spatterdashed  to  the  knee,  and  enter  the  house  to  drink  cherry- 
brandy  and  pay  their  respects  to  the  ladies,  or,  more  modest  and 
sportsmanlike,  divest  themselves  of  their  mud-boots,  exchange  their 
hacks  for  their  hunters,  and  warm  their  blood  by  a  preliminary 
gallop  round  the  lawn.  Then  they  collect  round  the  pack  in  the 
corner,  and  talk  with  Tom  Moody  of  past  sport,  and  the  merits  of 
Sniveller  and  Diamond,  and  of  the  state  of  the  country  and  of  the 
wretched  breed  of  foxes. 

Sir  Huddlestone  presently  appears  mounted  on  a  clever  cob, 
and  rides  up  to  the  Hall,  where  he  enters  and  does  the  civil  thing 
by  the  ladies,  after  which,  being  a  man  of  few  words,  he  proceeds 
to  business.  The  hounds  are  drawn  up  to  the  hall  door,  and  little 
Rawdon  descends  amongst  them,  excited  yet  half  alarmed  by  the 
caresses  which  they  bestow  upon  him,  at  tlie  thumps  he  receives 
from  their  waving  tails,  and  at  their  canine  bickerings,  scarcely 
restrained  by  Tom  Moody's  tongue  and  lash. 

Meanwhile,  Sir  Huddlestone  has  hoisted  himself  unwieldily  on 


A   1T0?EL   WITHOUT   A    HERO  441 

the  Nob :  "  Let's  try  Sowster's  Spinney,  Tom,"  says  the  Baronet, 
"  Farmer  Mangle  tells  me  there  are  two  foxes  in  it."  Tom  blows 
his  horn  and  trots  off,  followed  b^  the  pack,  by  the  whips,  by 
the  young  gents  from  Winchester;  by  the  farmers  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, by  the  labourers  of  the  parish  on  foot,  with  whom  the 
day  is  a  great  holiday;  Sir  Huddlestone  bringing  up  the  rear 
with  Colonel  Crawley,  and  the  whole  cortege  disappears  down  the 
avenue. 

The  Reverend  Bute  Crawley  (who  has  been  too  modest  to 
appear  at  the  public  meet  before  his  nephew's  windows),  and  whom 
Tom  Moody  remembers  forty  years  back  a  slender  divine  riding  the 
wildest  horses,  jumping  the  widest  brooks,  and  larking  over  the 
newest  gates  in  the  country, — his  Reverence,  we  say,  happens  to 
trot  out  from  the  Rectory  Lane  on  his  powerful  black  horse,  just  as 
Sir  Huddlestone  passes;  he  joins  the  worthy  Baronet.  Hounds 
and  horsemen  disappear,  and  little  Rawdon  remains  on  the  door- 
steps, wondering  and  happy. 

During  the  progress  of  this  memorable  holiday,  little  Rawdon, 
if  he  had  got  no  special  liking  for  his  uncle,  always  awful  and  cold, 
and  locked  up  in  his  study,  plunged  in  justice-business  and  sur- 
rounded by  bailiffs  and  farmers — has  gained  the  good  graces  of  his 
married  and  maiden  aunts,  of  the  two  little  folks  of  the  Hall,  and 
of  Jim  of  the  Rectory,  whom  Sir  Pitt  is  encouraging  to  pay  his 
addresses  to  one  of  the  young  ladies,  with  an  understanding  doubt- 
less that  he  shall  be  presented  to  the  living  when  it  shall  be  vacated 
by  his  fox-hunting  old  sire.  Jim  has  given  up  that  sport  himself, 
and  confines  himself  to  a  little  harmless  duck  or  snipe  shooting,  or  a 
little  quiet  trifling  with  the  rats  during  the  Christmas  holidays, 
after  which  he  will  return  to  the  University,  and  try  and  not  be 
plucked,  once  more.  He  has  already  eschewed  gi-een  coats,  red 
neckcloths,  and  other  worldly  ornaments,  and  is  preparing  himself  \ 
for  a  change  in  his  condition.  In  this  cheap  and  thrifty  way  Sir  \ 
Pitt  tries  to  pay  off  his  debt  to  his  family. 


Also  before  this  merry  Christmas  was  over,  the  Baronet  had 
screwed  up  courage  enough  to  give  his  brother  another  draft  on  his 
bankers,  and  for  no  less  a  sum  than  a  hundred  pounds,  an  act  which 
caused  Sir  Pitt  cruel  pangs  at  first,  but  which  made  him  glow  after- 
wards to  think  himself  one  of  the  most  generous  of  men.  Rawdon 
and  his  son  went  away  with  the  utmost  heaviness  of  heart.  Becky 
and  the  ladies  parted  with  some  alacrity,  however  :  and  our  friend 
returned  to  London  to  commence  those  avocations  with  which  we 
find  her  occupied  when  this  chapter  begins.  Under  her  care  the 
Crawley  House  in  Great  Gaunt  Street  was  quite  rejuvenescent, 


J 


444  VANITY    FAIR 

and  ready  for  the  reception  of  Sir  Pitt  and  his  family,  when  the 
Baronet  came  to  London  to  attend  his  duties  in  Parliament,  and 
to  assume  that  position  in  the  country  for  which  his  vast  genius 
fitted  him. 

For  the  first  session,  this  profound  dissembler  hid  his  projects 
and  never  opened  his  lips  but  to  present  a  petition  from  Mudbury. 
But  he  attended  assiduously  in  his  place,  and  learned  thoroughly 
the  routine  and  business  of  the  House.  At  home  he  gave  himself 
up  to  the  perusal  of  Blue  Books,  to  the  alarm  and  wonder  of  Lady 
Jane,  who  thought  he  was  killing  himself  by  late  hours  and  intense 
application.  And  he  made  acquaintance  with  the  Ministers,  and 
the  chiefs  of  his  party,  determining  to  rank  as  one  of  them  before 
many  years  were  over. 

Lady  Jane's  sweetness  and  kindness  had  inspired  Rebecca  with 
such  a  contempt  for  her  Ladyship  as  the  little  woman  found  no 
small  difficulty  in  concealing.  That  sort  of  goodness  and  simplicity 
which  Lady  Jane  possessed,  annoyed  our  friend  Becky,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  her  at  times  not  to  show,  or  to  let  the  other  divine 
her  scorn.  Her  presence,  too,  rendered  Lady  Jane  uneasy.  Her 
husband  talked  constantly  with  Becky.  Signs  of  intelligence  seemed 
to  pass  between  them :  and  Pitt  spoke  with  her  on  subjects  on 
which  he  never  thought  of  discoursing  with  Lady  Jane.  The  latter 
did  not  understand  them  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  mortifying  to 
remain  silent ;  still  more  mortifying  to  know  that  you  had  nothing 
to  say,  and  hear  that  little  audacious  Mrs.  Rawdon  dashing  on  fi-om 
subject  to  subject,  with  a  word  for  every  man,  and  a  joke  always 
pat;  and  to  sit  in  one's  own  house  alone,  by  the  fireside,  and 
watching  all  the  men  round  your  rival. 

In  the  country,  when  Lady  Jane  was  telling  stories  to  the 
children,  who  clustered  about  her  knees  (little  Rawdon  into  the 
bargain,  who  was  very  fond  of  her) — and  Becky  came  into  the  room, 
sneering  with  green  scornful  eyes,  poor  Lady  Jane  grew  silent  under 
those  baleful  glances.  Her  simple  little  fancies  shrank  away  tremu- 
lously, as  fairies  in  the  story-books,  before  a  superior  bad  angel. 
She  could  not  go  on,  although  Rebecca,  with  the  smallest  inflection 
of  sarcasm  in  her  voice,  besought  her  to  continue  that  charming 
story.  And  on  her  side  gentle  thoughts  and  simple  pleasures  were 
odious  to  Mrs.  Becky ;  they  discorded  with  her ;  she  hated  people 
for  liking  them ;  she  spurned  children  and  children-lovers.  "  I  have 
no  taste  for  bread  and  butter,"  she  would  say,  when  caricaturing 
Lady  Jane  and  her  ways  to  my  Lord  Steyne. 

"  No  more  has  a  certain  person  for  holy  water,"  his  Lordship 
replied  with  a  bow  and  a  grin,  and  a  great  jarring  laugh  afterwards. 

So  these  two  ladies  did  not  see  much  of  each  other  except  upon 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  443 

those  occasions,  when  the  younger  brother's  wife,  having  an  object 
to  gain  from  the  other,  frequented  her.  They  my-loved  and  my- 
deared  each  other  assiduously,  but,  kept  apart  generally :  whereas 
Sir  Pitt,  in  the  midst  of  his  multiplied  avocations,  found  daily  time 
to  see  his  sister-in-law. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  first  Speaker's  dinner.  Sir  Pitt  took  the 
opportunity  of  appearing  before  his  sister-in-law  in  his  uniform — 
that  old  diplomatic  suit  which  he  had  worn  when  attach^  to  the 
Pumpernickel  legation. 

Becky  complim.ented  him  upon  that  dress,  and  admired  him 
almost  as  much  as  his  own  wife  and  children,  to  whom  he  displayed 
himself  before  he  set  out.  She  said  that  it  was  only  the  thorough- 
bred gentleman  who  could  wear  the  Court  suit  with  advantage :  it 
was  only  your  men  of  ancient  race  whom  the  coulotte  courte  became. 
Pitt  looked  down  with  complacency  at  his  legs,  which  had  not,  in 
truth,  much  more  symmetry  or  swell  than  the  lean  Court  sword 
which  dangled  by  his  side :  looked  down  at  his  legs,  and  thought  in 
his  heart  that  he  was  killing. 

When  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Becky  made  a  caricature  of  his  figure, 
which  she  showed  to  Lord  Steyne  when  he  arrived.  His  Lordship 
carried  off  the  sketch,  delighted  with  the  accuracy  of  the  resemblance. 
He  had  done  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  the  honour  to  meet  him  at  Mrs.  Becky's 
house,  and  had  been  most  gracious  to  the  new  Baronet  and  member. 
Pitt  was  struck  too  by  the  deference  with  which  the  great  Peer  treated 
his  sister-in-law,  by  her  ease  and  sprightliness  in  the  conversation, 
and  by  the  delight  with  which  the  other  men  of  the  party  listened 
to  her  talk.  Lord  Steyne  made  no  doubt  but  that  the  Baronet 
had  only  commenced  his  career  in  public  life,  and  expected  rather 
anxiously  to  hear  him  as  an  orator ;  as  they  were  neighbours  (for 
Great  Gaunt  Street  leads  into  Gaunt  Square,  whereof  Gaunt  House, 
as  everybody  knows,  forms  one  side)  my  Lord  hoped  that  as  soon  as 
Lady  Steyne  arrived  in  London  she  would  have  the  honour  of  making 
the  acquaintance  of  Lady  Crawley.  He  left  a  card  upon  his  neigh- 
bour in  the  course  of  a  day  or  two ;  having  never  thought  fit  to 
notice  his  predecessor,  though  they  had  lived  near  each  other  for 
near  a  century  past. 

In  the  midst  of  these  intrigues  and  fine  parties  and  wise  and 
brilliant  personages  Rawdon  felt  himself  more  and  more  isolated 
every  day.  He  was  allowed  to  go  to  the  club  more  :  to  dine  abroad 
with  bachelor  friends :  to  come  and  go  when  he  liked,  without  any 
questions  being  asked.  And  he  and  Rawdon  the  younger  many 
a  time  would  walk  to  Gaunt  Street,  and  sit  with  the  lady  and  the 
children  there  while  Sir  Pitt  was  closeted  with  Rebecca,  on  his  way 
to  the  House,  or  on  his  return  from  it. 


444  VANITY    FAIR 

The  ex-Colonel  would  sit  for  hours  in  his  brother's  house  very 
silent,  and  thinking  and  doing  as  little  as  possible.  He  was  glad 
to  be  employed  of  an  errand :  to  go  and  make  inquiries  about  a 
horse  or  a  servant :  or  to  carve  the  roast  mutton  for  the  dinner 
of  the  children.  He  was  beat  and  cowed  into  laziness  and  sub- 
mission. Delilah  had  imprisoned  him  and  cut  his  hair  off,  too. 
The  bold  and  reckless  young  blood  of  ten  years  back  was  subju- 
gated, and  was  turned  into  a  torpid,  submissive,  middle-aged,  stout 
gentleman. 

And  poor  Lady  Jane  was  aware  that  Rebecca  had  captivated  her 
husband :  although  she  and  Mrs.  Rawdon  my-deared  and  my-loved 
each  other  every  day  they  met. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

STRUGGLES    AND    TRIALS 

OUR  friends  at  Brompton  were  meanwhile  passing  their 
Christmas  after  their  fashion,  and  in  a  manner  by  no  means 
too  cheerful. 

Out  of  the  hundred  pounds  a  year,  which  was  about  the  amount 
of  her  income,  the  widow  Osborne  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving 
up  nearly  three-fourths  to  her  father  and  mother,  for  the  expenses  of 
herself  and  her  little  boy.  With  £120  more,  supplied  by  Jos,  this 
family  of  four  people,  attended  by  a  single  Irish  servant,  who  also 
did  for  Clapp  and  his  wife,  might  manage  to  live  in  decent  comfort 
through  the  year,  and  hold  up  their  heads  yet,  and  be  able  to  give 
a  friend  a  dish  of  tea  still,  after  the  storms  and  disappointments  of 
their  early  life.  Sedley  still  maintained  his  ascendency  over  the 
family  of  Mr.  Clapp,  his  ex-clerk.  Clapp  remembered  the  time 
when,  sit'ting  on  the  edge  of  the  chair,  he  tossed  off  a  bumper  to 

the  health  of  "  Mrs.  S ,  Miss  Emmy,  and  Mr.  Joseph  in  India," 

at  the  merchant's  rich  table  in  Russell  Square.  Time  magnified  the 
splendour  of  those  recollections  in  the  honest  clerk's  bosom.  When- 
ever he  came  up  from  the  kitchen-parlour  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
partook  of  tea  or  gin-and-water  with  Mr.  Sedley,  he  would  say, 
"  This  was  not  what  you  was  accustomed  to  once,  sir,"  and  as 
gravely  and  reverentially  drink  the  health  of  the  ladies  as  he  had 
done  in  the  days  of  their  utmost  prosperity.  He  thought  Miss 
'Melia's  playing  the  divinest  music  ever  performed,  and  her  the 
finest  lady.  He  never  would  sit  down  before  Sedley  at  the  club 
even,  nor  would  he  have  that  gentleman's  character  abused  by  any 
member  of  the  society.     He  had  seen  the  first  men  in  London 

shaking  hands  with  Mr.  S ;  he  said,  "  He'd  known  him  in 

times  when  Rothschild  might  be  seen  on  'Change  with  him  any 
day,  and  he  owed  him  personally  everythink." 

Clapp,  with  the  best  of  characters  and  handwritings,  had  been 
able  very  soon  after  his  master's  disaster  to  find  other  employment 
for  himself.  "  Such  a  little  fish  as  me  can  swim  in  any  bucket,"  he 
used  to  remark,  and  a  member  of  the  house  from  which  old  Sedley 
had  seceded  was  very  glad  to  make  use  of  Mr.  Clapp's  services,  and 


446  VANITY    FAIR 

to  reward  them  with  a  comfortable  salary.  In  fine,  all  Sedley's 
wealthy  friends  had  dropped  off  one  by  one,  and  this  poor  ex- 
dependant  still  remained  faithfully  attached  to  him. 

Out  of  the  small  residue  of  her  income,  which  Amelia  kept  back 
for  herself,  the  widow  had  need  of  all  the  thrift  and  care  possible  in 
order  to  enable  her  to  keep  her  darling  boy  dressed  in  such  a  manner 
as  became  George  Osborne's  son,  and  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the 
little  school  to  which,  after  much  misgiving  and  reluctance,  and 
many  secret  pangs  and  fears  on  her  own  part,  she  had  been  induced 
to  send  the  lad.  She  had  sate  up  of  nights  conning  lessons  and 
spelling  over  crabbed  grammars  and  geography  books  in  order  to 
teach  them  to  Oeorgy.  She  had  worked  even  at  the  Latin  accidence, 
fondly  hoping  that  she  might  be  capable  of  instructing  him  in  that 
language.  To  part  with  him  all  day  :  to  send  him  out  to  the  mercy 
of  a  schoolmaster's  cane  and  his  schoolfellows'  roughness,  was  almost 
like  weaning  him  over  again,  to  that  weak  mother,  so  tremulous 
and  full  of  sensibility.  He,  for  his  part,  rushed  off  to  the  school 
with  the  utmost  happiness.  He  was  longing  for  the  change.  That 
childish  gladness  wounded  his  mother,  who  was  herself  so  grieved 
to  part  with  him.  She  would  rather  have  had  him  more  sorry, 
she  thought :  and  then  was  deeply  repentant  within  herself,  for 
daring  to  be  so  selfish  as  to  wish  her  own  son  to  be  unhappy. 

Georgy  made  great  progress  in  the  school,  which  was  kept  by  a 
friend  of  his  mother's  constant  admirer,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Binny.  He 
brought  home  numberless  prizes  and  testimonials  of  ability.  He 
told  his  mother  countless  stories  every  night  about  his  school- 
companions  :  and  what  a  fine  fellow  Lyons  was,  and  what  a  sneak 
Sniffin  was ;  and  how  Steel's  father  actually  supplied  the  meat 
for  the  establishment,  whereas  Golding's  mother  came  in  a  carriage 
to  fetch  him  every  Saturday :  and  how  Neat  .had  straps  to  his 
trousers— might  he  have  straps? — and  how  Bull  Major  was  so 
strong  (though  only  in  Eutropius)  that  it  was  believed  he  could 
lick  the  usher,  Mr.  Ward,  himself.  So  Amelia  learned  to  know 
every  one  of  the  boys  in  that  school  as  well  as  Georgy  himself :  and 
of  nights  she  used  to  help  him  in  his  exercises  and  puzzle  her  little 
head  over  his  lessons  as  eagerly  as  if  she  was  herself  going  in  the 
morning  into  the  presence  of  the  master.  Once,  after  a  certain 
combat  with  Master  Smith,  George  came  home  to  his  mother  with 
a  black  eye,  and  bragged  prodigiously  to  his  parent  and  his  delighted 
old  grandfather  about  his  valour  in  the  fight,  in  which,  if  the  truth 
was  known,  he  did  not  behave  with  particular  heroism,  and  in 
which  he  decidedly  had  the  worst.  But  Amelia  has  never  forgiven 
that  Smith  to  this  day,  though  he  is  now  a  peaceful  apothecary  near 
Leicester  Square. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  447 

In  these  quiet  labours  and  harmless  cares  the  gentle  widow's 
life  was  passing  away,  a  silver  hair  or  two  marking  the  progress  of 
time  on  her  head,  and  a  line  deepening  ever  so  little  on  her  fair 
forehead.  She  used  to  smile  at  tfiese  marks  of  time.  "What 
matters  it,"  she  asked,  "for  an  old  woman  like  me?"  All  she 
hoped  for  was  to  live  to  see  her  son  great,  famous,  and  glorious,  as 
he  V  deserved  to  be.  She  kept  his  copybooks,  his  drawings,  and 
composltTons,  and  showed  them  about  in  her  little  circle,  as  if  they 
were  miracles  of  genius.  She  confided  some  of  these  specimens  ,to 
Miss  Dobbin;  to  show  them  to  Miss  Osborne,  George's  aunt,  to 
show  them  to  Mr.  Osborne  himself — to  make  that  old  man  repent 
of  his  cruelty  and  ill-feeling  towards  him  who  was  gone.  All  her 
husband's  faults  and  foibles  she  had  buried  in  the  grave  with  him  : 
she  only  remembered  the  lover,  who  had  married  her  at  all  sacri- 
fices ;  the  noble  husband  so  brave  and  beautiful,  in  whose  arms  she 
had  hung  on  the  morning  when  he  had  gone  away  to  fight,  and  die 
gloriously  for  his  king.  From  heaven  the  hero  must  be  smiling 
down  upon  that  paragon  of  a  boy  whom  he  had  left  to  comfort  and 
console  her. 

We  have  seen  how  one  of  George's  grandfathers  (Mr.  Osborne), 
in  his  easy-chair  in  Russell  Square,  daily  grew  more  violent  and 
moody,  and  how  his  daughter,  with  her  fine  carriage,  and  her  fine 
horses,  and  her  name  on  half  the  public  charity-lists  of  the  town,  was 
a  lonely,  miserable,  persecuted  old  maid.  She  thought  again  and 
again  of  the  beautiful  little  boy,  her  brother's  son,  whom  she  had 
seen.  She  longed  to  be  allowed  to  drive  in  the  fine  carriage  to  the 
house  in  which  he  lived ;  and  she  used  to  look  out  day  after  day  as 
she  took  her  solitary  drive  in  the  Park,  in  hopes  that  she  might  see 
him.  Her  sister,  the  banker's  lady,  occasionally  condescended  to 
pay  her  old  home  and  companion  a  visit  in  Russell  Square.  She 
brought  a  couple  of  sickly  children  attended  by  a  prim  nurse,  and 
in  a  faint  genteel  giggling  tone  cackled  to  her  sister  about  her  fine 
acquaintance,  and  how  her  little  Frederick  was  the  image  of  Lord 
Claud  LoUypop,  and  her  sweet  Maria  had  been  noticed  by  the 
Baroness  as  they  were  driving  in  their  donkey-chaise  at  Roehampton. 
She  urged  her  to  make  her  papa  do  something  for  the  darlings. 
Frederick  she  had  determined  should  go  into  the  Guards;  and  if 
they  made  an  elder  son  of  him  (and  Mr.  Bullock  was  positively 
ruining  and  pinching  himself  to  death  to  buy  land),  how  was  the 
darling  girl  to  be  provided  for  1  "I  expect  you,  dear,  to  do  it,"  Mrs. 
Bullock  would  say,  "  for  of  course  my  share  of  our  papa's  property 
must  go  to  the  head  of  the  house,  you  know.  Dear  Rhoda  McMuU 
will  disengage  the  whole  of  the  Castletoddy  property  as  soon  as  poor 
dear  Lord  Castletoddy  dies,  who  is  quite  epileptic  ;  and  little  Mac- 


448  VANITY   PAIR 

duff  McMull  will  be  Viscount  Castletoddy.  Both  the  Mr.  Bludyers 
of  Mincing  Lane  have  settled  their  fortunes  on  Fanny  Bludyer's 
little  boy.  My  darling  Frederick  must  positively  be  an  eldest  son  ; 
and — and  do  ask  papa  to  bring  us  back  his  account  in  Lombard  Street, 
will  you,  dearl  It  doesn't  look  well,  his  going  to  Stumpy  and 
Rowdy's."  After  which  kind  of  speeches,  in  which  fashion  and  the 
main  chance  were  blended  together,  and  after  a  kiss,  which  was  like 
the  contact  of  an  oyster — Mrs.  Frederick  Bullock  would  gather  her 
starched  nurslings,  and  simper  back  into  her  carriage. 

Every  visit  which  this  leader  of  ton  paid  to  her  family  was  more 
unlucky  for  her.  Her  father  paid  more  money  into  Stumpy  and 
Rowdy's.  Her  patronage  became  more  and  more  insufferable.  The 
poor  widow  in  the  little  cottage  at  Brompton,  guarding  her  treasure 
there,  little  knew  how  eagerly  some  people  coveted  it. 

On  that  night  when  Jane  Osborne  had  told  her  father  that  she 
had  seen  his  grandson,  the  old  man  had  made  her  no  reply  :  but  he 
had  shown  no  anger^and  had  bade  her  good  night  on  going  himself 
to  his  room  in  rather  a  kindly  voice.  And  he  must  have  meditated 
on  what  she  said,  and  have  made  some  inquiries  of  the  Dobbin 
family  regarding  her  visit;  for  a  fortnight  after  it  took  place,  he 
asked  her  where  was  her  little  French  watch  and  chain  she  used 
to  wear"? 

"  I  bought  it  with  my  money,  sir,"  she  said  in  a  great  fright. 

"  Go  and  order  another  like  it,  or  a  better  if  you  can  get  it,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  and  lapsed  again  into  silence. 

Of  late  the  Misses  Dobbin  more  than  once  repeated  their  en- 
treaties to  Amelia  to  allow  George  to  visit  them.  His  aunt  had 
shown  her  inclination  ;  perhaps  his  grandfather  himself,  they  hinted, 
might  be  disposed  to  be  reconciled  to  him.  Surely,  Amelia  could 
not  refuse  such  advantageous  chances  for  the  boy.  Nor  could  she  : 
but  she  acceded  to  their  overtures  with  a  very  heavy  and  suspicious 
heart,  was  always  uneasy  during  the  child's  absence  from  her,  and 
welcomed  him  back  as  if  he  was  rescued  out  of  some  danger.  He 
brought  back  money  and  toys,  at  which  the  widow  looked  with 
alarm  and  jealousy :  she  asked  him  always  if  he  had  seen  any 
gentleman — "  Only  old  Sir  William,  who  drove  him  about  in  the 
four-wheeled  chaise,  and  Mr.  Dobbin,  who  arrived  on  the  beautiful 
bay  horse  in  the  afternoon — in  the  green  coat  and  pink  neckcloth, 
with  the  gold-headed  whip,  who  promised  to  show  him  the  Tower  of 
London,  and  take  him  out  with  the  Surrey  hounds."  At  last  he 
said,  "  There  was  an  old  gentleman,  with  thick  eyebrows  and  a 
broad  hat,  and  large  chain  and  seals."  He  came  one  day  as  the 
coachman  was  lunging  Georgy  round  the  lawn  on  the  grey  pony. 
*'  He  looked  at  me  very   much.     He  shook   very  much.     I  said 


I 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  449 

*  My  name  is  I^orval '  after  dinner.  My  aunt  began  to  cry.  She 
is  always  crying."     Such  was  George's  report  on  that  night. 

Then  Amelia  knew  that  the  boy  had  seen  his  gi-andfather :  and 
looked  out  feverishly  for  a  proposal  which  she  was  sure  would  follow, 
and  which  came,  in  fact,  in  a  few  days  afterwards.  Mr.  Osborne 
formally  offered  to  take  the  boy,  and  make  him  heir  to  the  fortune 
which  he  had  intended  that  his  father  should  inherit.  He  would 
make  Mrs.  George  Osborne  an  allowance,  such  as  to  assure  her  a 
decent  competency.  If  Mrs.  George  Osborne  proposed  to  marry 
again,  as  Mr.  0.  heard  was  her  intention,  he  would  not  withdraw 
that  allowance.  But  it  must  be  understood,  that  the  child  would 
live  entirely  with  his  grandfather  in  Russell  Square,  or  at  whatever 
other  place  Mr.  0.  should  select ;  and  that  he  would  be  occasionally 
permitted  to  see  Mrs.  George  Osborne  at  her  own  residence.  This 
message  was  brought  or  read  to  her  in  a  letter  one  day,  when  her 
mother  was  from  home,  and  her  father  absent  as  usual  in  the  City. 

She  was  never  seen  angry  but  twice  or  thrice  in  her  life,  and  it 
was  in  one  of  these  moods  that  Mr.  Osborne's  attorney  had  the 
fortune  to  behold  her.  She  rose  up  trembling  and  flushing  very 
much  as  soon  as,  after  reading  the  letter,  Mr.  Poe  handed  it  to  her, 
and  she  tore  the  paper  into  a  hundred  fragments,  which  she  trod  on. 
"  '  I  marry  again  ! — I  take  money  to  part  from  my  child  !  Who 
dares  insult  me  by  proposing  such  a  thing  1  Tell  Mr.  Osborne  it  is 
a  cowardly  letter,  sir — a  cowardly  letter — I  will  not  answer  it.  I 
wish  you  good  morning,  sir ' — and  she  bowed  me  out  of  the  room  like 
a  tragedy  Queen,"  said  the  lawyer  who  told  the  story. 

Her  parents  never  remarked  her  agitation  on  that  day,  and  she 
never  told  them  of  the  interview.  They  had  their  own  affairs  to 
interest  them,  affairs  which,  deeply  interested  this  innocent  and  un- 
conscious lady.  The  old  gentleman,  her  father,  was  always  dabbling 
in  speculation.  We  have  seen  how  the  Wine  Company  and  the  Coal 
Company  had  failed  him.  But,  prowling  about  the  City  always 
eagerly  and  restlessly  still,  he  lighted  upon  some  other  scheme,  of 
which  he  thought  so  well  that  he  embarked  in  it  in  spite  of  the 
remonstrances  of  Mr.  Clapp,  to  whom  indeed  he  never  dared  to 
tell  how  far  he  had  engaged  himself  in  it.  And  as  it  was  always 
Mr.  Sedley's  maxim  not  to  talk  about  money  matters  before 
women,  they  had  no  inkling  of  the  misfortunes  that  were  in  store 
for  them  until  the  unhappy  old  gentleman  was  forced  to  make  gradual 
confessions. 

The  bills  of  the  little  household,  which  had  been  settled  weekly, 
first  fell  into  arrear.  The  remittances  had  not  arrived  from  India, 
Mr.  Sedley  told  his  wife  with  a  disturbed  face.  As  she  had  paid 
her  bills  verv  regularly  hitherto,  one  or  two  of  the  tradesmen  to 


4$o  VANITY   FAIR 

whom  the  poor  lady  was  obliged  to  go  round  asking  for  time  were 
very  angry  at  a  delay  to  which  they  were  perfectly  used  from  more 
irregular  customers.  Emmy's  contribution,  paid  over  cheerfiilly 
without  any  questions,  kept  the  little  company  in  half  rations  how- 
ever. And  the  first  six  months  passed  away  pretty  easily :  old 
Sedley  still  keeping  up  with  the  notion  that  his  shares  must  rise 
and  that  all  would  be  well. 

No  sixty  pounds,  however,  came  to  help  the  household  at  the 
end  of  the  half-year ;  and  it  fell  deeper  and  deeper  into  trouble — 
Mrs.  Sedley,  who  was  growing  infirm  and  was  much  shaken,  re- 
mained silent  or  wept  a  great  deal  with  Mrs.  Clapp  in  the  kitchen. 
The  butcher  was  particularly  surly :  the  grocer  insolent :  once  or 
twice  little  Georgy  had  grumbled  about  the  dinners :  and  Amelia, 
who  still  would  have  been  satisfied  with  a  slice  of  bread  for  her 
own  dinner,  could  not  but  perceive  that  her  son  was  neglected,  and 
purchased  little  things  out  of  her  private  purse  to  keep  the  boy  in 
health. 

At  last  they  told  her,  or  told  her  such  a  garbled  story  as  people 
in  difficulties  tell.  One  day,  her  own  money  having  been  received, 
and  Amelia  about  to  pay  it  over :  she  who  had  kept  an  account  of 
the  moneys  expended  by  her,  proposed  to  keep  a  certain  portion 
back  out  of  her  dividend,  having  contracted  engagements  for  a  new 
suit  for  Georgy. 

Then  it  came  out  that  Jos's  remittances  were  not  paid;  that 
the  house  was  in  difficulties,  which  Amelia  ought  to  have  seen 
before,  her  mother  said,  but  she  cared  for  nothing  or  nobody  except 
Georgy.  At  this  she  passed  all  her  money  across  the  table,  without 
a  word,  to  her  mother,  and  returned  to  her  room  to  cry  her  eyes 
out.  She  had  a  great  access  of  sensibility  too  that  day,  when 
obliged  to  go  and  countermand  the  clothes,  the  darling  clothes  on 
which  she  had  set  her  heart  for  Christmas  Day,  and  the  cut  and 
fashion  of  which  she  had  arranged  in  many  conversations  with  a 
small  milliner,  her  friend. 

Hardest  of  all,  she  had  to  break  the  matter  to  Georgy,  who 
made  a  loud  outcry.  Everybody  had  new  clothes  at  Christmas. 
The  others  would  laugh  at  him.  He  would  have  new  clothes. 
She  had  promised  them  to  him.  The  poor  widow  had  only  kisses 
to  give  him.  She  darned  the  old  suit  in  tears.  She  cast  about 
among  her  little  ornaments  to  see  if  she  could  sell  anything  to  pro- 
cure the  desired  novelties.  There  was  her  India  shawl  that  Dobbin 
had  sent  her.  She  remembered  in  former  days  going  ^vith  her 
mother  to  a  fine  India  shop  on  Ludgate  Hill,  where  the  ladies  had 
all  sorts  of  dealings  and  bargains  in  these  articles.  Her  cheeks 
flushed  and  her  eyes  shone  with  pleasure  as  she  thought  of  this 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  451 

resource,  and  she  kissed  away  George  to  school  in  the  morning, 
smiling  brightly  after  him.  The  boy  felt  that  there  was  good  news 
in  her  look.  ^ 

Packing  up  her  shawl  in  a  handkerchief  (another  of  the  gifts  of 
the  good  Major),  she  hid  them  under  her  cloak,  and  walked  flushed 
and  eager  all  the  way  to  Ludgate  Hill,  tripping  along  by  the  Park 
wall,  and  running  over  the  crossings,  so  that  many  a  man  turned  as 
she  hurried  by  liim,  and  looked  after  her  rosy  pretty  face.  She 
calculated  how  she  should  spend  the  proceeds  of  her  shawl :  how, 
besides  the  clothes,  she  would  buy  the  books  that  he  longed  for, 
and  pay  his  half-year's  schooling ;  and  how  she  would  buy  a  cloak 
for  her  father  instead  of  that  old  greatcoat  which  he  wore.  She 
was  not  mistaken  as  to  the  value  of  the  Major's  gift.  It  was  a  very 
fine  and  beautiful  web  :  and  the  merchant  made  a  very  good  bargain 
when  he  gave  her  twenty  guineas  for  her  shawl. 

She  ran  on  amazed  and  flurried  with  her  riches  to  Barton's 
shop  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  there  purchased  the  "  Parents' 
Assistant,"  and  the  "  Sandford  and  Merton "  Georgy  longed  for, 
and  got  into  the  coach  there  with  her  parcel,  and  went  home 
exulting.  And  she  pleased  herself  by  writing  in  the  fly-leaf  in  her 
neatest  little  hand,  "George  Osborne,  A  Christmas  gift  from  his 
affectionate  mother."  The  books  are  extant  to  this  day,  with  the 
fair  delicate  superscription. 

She  was  going  from  her  own  room  with  the  books  in  her  hand 
to  place  them  on  George's  table,  where  he  might  find  them  on  his 
return  from  school ;  when  in  the  passage,  she  and  her  mother  met. 
The  gilt  bindings  of  the  seven  handsome  little  volumes  caught  the 
old  lady's  eye. 

"  What  are  those  1 "  she  said. 

"Some  books  for  Georgy,"  Amelia  replied — "I — I  promised 
them  to  him  at  Christmas." 

"  Books ! "  cried  the  elder  lady  indignantly,  "  Books,  when  the 
whole  house  wants  bread  !  Books,  when  to  keep  you  and  your  son 
in  luxury,  and  your  dear  father  out  of  gaol,  I've  sold  every  trinket 
I  had,  the  India  shawl  from  my  back — even  down  to  the  very 
spoons,  that  our  tradesmen  mightn't  insult  us,  and  that  Mr.  Clapp, 
which  indeed  he  is  justly  entitled  to,  being  not  a  hard  landlord,  and" 
a  civil  m;in,  and  a  father,  might  have  his  rent.  0  Amelia !  you 
break  my  heart  with  your  books  and  that  boy  of  yours,  whom  you 
are  ruining,  though  part  with  him  you  will  not.  0  Amelia,  may" 
God  send  you  a  more  dutiful  child  than  I  have  had !  There's  Jos 
deserts  his  father  in  his  old  age :  and  there's  George,  who  might  be 
provided  for,  and  who  might  be  rich,  going  to  school  like  a  lord, 
with  a  gold  watch  and  chain  round  his  neck — while  my  dear  dear 


452  VANITY    FAIR 

old  man  is  without  a  sh — shilling."  Hysteric  sobs  and  cries  ended 
Mrs.  Sedley's  speech — it  echoed  through  every  room  in  the  small 
house,  whereof  the  other  female  inmates  heard  every  word  of  the 
colloquy. 

"  0  mother,  mother ! "  cried  poor  Amelia  in  reply.  "  You 
told  me  nothing — I — I  promised  him  the  books.  I — I  only  sold 
my  shawl  this  morning.  "Take  the  money — take  everything"— 
and  with  quivering  hands  she  took  out  her  silver,  and  her  sovereigns 
—her  precious  golden  sovereigns,  which  she  thrust  into  the  hands 
of  her  mother,  whence  they  overflowed  and  tumbled,  rolling  down 
the  stairs. 

And  then  she  went  into  her  room,  and  sank  down  in  despair  and 
utter  misery.  She  saw  it  all  now.  Her  selfishness  was.  sacrificing 
the  boy.  But  for  her  he  might  have  wealth,  station,  education,  and 
his  father's  place,  which  the  elder  George  had  forfeited  for  her  sake. 
She  had  but  to  speak  the  words,  and  her  father  was  restored  to 
competency :  and  the  boy  raised  to  fortune.  0  what  a  conviction 
it  was  to  that  tender  and  stricken  heart ! 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

GAUNT  HOUSE 

A  LL  the  world  knows  that  Lord  Steyne's  town  palace  stands  in 
/A  Gaunt  Square,  out  of  which  Great  Gaunt  Street  leads,  whither 
-^  *•  we  first  conducted  Rebecca,  in  the  time  of  the  departed  Sir 
Pitt  Crawley.  Peering  over  the  railings  and  through  the  black  trees 
into  the  garden  of  the  Square,  you  see  a  few  miserable  governesses 
with  wan-faced  pupils  wandering  round  and  roimd  it,  and  round  the 
dreary  grass-plot  in  the  centre  of  which  rises  the  statue  of  Lord 
Gaunt,  who  fought  at  Minden,  in  a  three-tailed  wig,  and  otherwise 
habited  like  a  Roman  Emperor.  Gaunt  House  occupies  nearly  a 
side  of  the  Square.  The  remaining  three  sides  are  composed  of 
mansions  that  have  passed  away  into  dowagerism — tall,  dark  houses, 
with  window-frames  of  stone,  or  picked  out  of  a  lighter  red.  Little 
light  seems  to  be  behind  those  leaji,  comfortless  casements  now  :  and 
hospitality  to  have  passed  away  from  those  doors  as  much  as  the 
laced  lacqueys  and  link-boys  of  old  times,  who  used  to  put  out  their 
torches  in  the  blank  iron  extinguishers  that  still  flank  the  lamps 
over  the  steps.  Brass  plates  have  penetrated  into  the  Square — 
Doctors,  the  Diddlesex  Bank  Western  Branch — the  English  and 
European  Reunion,  &c. — it  has  a  dreary  look — nor  is  my  Lord 
Steyne's  palace  less  dreary.  All  I  have  ever  seen  of  it  is  the  vast 
wall  in  front,  with  the  rustic  columns  at  the  great  gate,  through 
which  an  old  porter  peers  sometimes  with  a  fat  and  gloomy  red  face 
— and  over  the  wall  the  garret  and  bedroom  windows,  and  the 
chimneys,  out  of  which  there  seldom  comes  any  smoke  now.  For 
the  present  Lord  Steyne  lives  at  Naples,  preferring  the  view  of 
the  Bay  and  Capri  and  Vesuvius,  to  the  dreary  aspect  of  the  wall  in 
Gaunt  Square. 

A  few  score  yards  down  New  Gaunt  Street,  and  leading  into 
Gaunt  Mews  indeed,  is  a  little  modest  back  door,  which  you  would 
not  remark  from  that  of  any  of  the  other  stables.  But  many  a 
little  close  carriage  has  stopped  at  that  door,  as  my  informant  (little 
Tom  Eaves,  who  knows  everything,  and  who  showed  me  the  place) 
told  me.  "  The  Prince  and  Perdita  have  been  in  and  out  of  that 
door,  sir,"  he  has  often  told  me ;  "  Marianne  Clarke  has  entered  it 


454  VANITY    FAIR 

with  the  Duke  of ,     It  conducts  to  the  famous  petits  appcurte- 

ments  of  Lord  Steyne — one,  sir,  fitted  up  all  in  ivory  and  white  satin, 
another  in  ebony  and  black  velvet ;  there  is  a  little  banqueting-room 
taken  from  Sallust's  house  at  Pompeii,  and  painted  by  Cosway— 
a  little  private  kitchen,  in  which  every  saucepan  was  silver  and  all 
the  spits  were  gold.  It  was  there  that  Egalitd  Orleans  roasted 
partridges  on  the  night  when  he  and  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  won  a 
hundred  thousand  from  a  great  parsonage  at  ombre.  Half  of  the 
money  went  to  the  French  Revolution,  half  to  purchase  Lord  Gaunt's 
Marquisate  and  Garter — and  the  remainder — "  but  it  forms  no  part 
of  our  scheme  to  tell  what  became  of  the  remainder,  for  every  shilling 
of  which,  and  a  great  deal  more,  little  Tom  Eaves,  who  knows 
everybody's  affairs,  is  ready  to  account. 

Besides  his  town  palace,  the  Marquis  had  castles  and  palaces  in 
various  quarters  of  the  three  kingdoms,  whereof  the  descriptions  may 
be  found  in  the  road-books — Castle  Strongbow,  with  its  woods, 
on  the  Shannon  shore ;  Gaunt  Castle,  in  Carmarthenshire,  where 
Richard  II.  was  taken  prisoner — Gauntly  Hall  in  Yorkshire,  where 
I  have  been  informed  there  wei"e  two  hundred  silver  teapots  for  the 
breakfasts  of  the  guests  of  the  house,  with  everything  to  correspond 
in  splendour;  and  Stillbrook  in  Hampshire,  which  was  my  lord's 
farm,  an  humble  place  of  residence,  of  which  we  all  remember  the 
wonderful  furniture  which  was  sold  at  my  lord's  demise  by  a  late 
celebrated  auctioneer. 

The  Marchioness  of  Steyne  was  of  the  renowned  and  ancient 
family  of  the  Caerlyons,  Marquises  of  Camelot,  who  have  preserved 
the  old  faith  ever  since  the  conversion  of  the  venerable  Druid,  their 
first  ancestor,  and  whose  pedigree  goes  far  beyond  the  date  of  the 
arrival  of  King  Brute  in  these  islands.  Pendragon  is  the  title  of  the 
eldest  son  of  the  house.  The  sons  have  been  called  Arthurs,  Uthers, 
and  Oaradocs,  from  immemorial  time.  Their  heads  have  fallen  in 
many  a  loyal  conspiracy.  Elizabeth  chopped  off  the  head  of  the 
Arthur  of  her  day,  who  had  been  Chamberlain  to  Philip  and  Mary, 
and  carried  letters  between  the  Queen  of  Scots  and  her  uncles  the 
Guises.  A  cadet  of  the  house  was  an  officer  of  the  great  Duke,  and 
distinguished  in  the  famous  Saint  Bar1>holomew  conspiracy.  During 
the  whole  of  Mary's  confinement,  the  house  of  Camelot  conspired  in 
her  behalf.  It  was  as  much  injured  by  its  charges  in  fitting  out  an 
armament  against  the  Spaniards,  during  the  time  of  the  Armada,  as 
by  the  fines  and  confiscations  levied  on  it  by  Elizabeth  for  harbour- 
ing of  priests,  obstinate  recusancy,  and  Popish  misdoings.  A  recreant 
of  James's  time  was  momentarily  perverted  from  his  religion  by  tlie 
arguments  of  that  great  theologian,  and  the  fortunes  of  the  family 
somewhat  restored  by  his  timely  weakness.    But  the  Earl  of  Camelot 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  455* 

of  the  reign  of  Charles,  returaed  to  the  old  creed  of  his  family,  and 
they  continued  to  fight  for  it,  and  niin  themselves  for  it,  as  long  as 
there  was  a  Stuart  left  to  head  or  to  instigate  a  rebellion. 

Lady  Mary  Caerlyon  was  broiight  up  at  a  Parisian  convent; 
the  Dauphiness  Marie  Antoinette  was  her  godmother.  In  the  pride 
of  her  beauty  she  had  been  married — sold,  it  was  said— to  Lord 
Gaunt,  then  at  Paris,  who  won  vast  sums  from  the  lady's  brother  at 
some  of  Philip  of  Orleans's  banquets.  The  Earl  of  Gaunt's  famous 
duel  with  the  Count  de  la  Marche,  of  the  Grey  Musqueteers,  was 
attributed  by  common  report  to  the  pretensions  of  that  officer  (who 
had  been  a  page,  and  remained  a  favourite  with  the  Queen)  to  the 
hand  of  the  beautiful  Lady  Mary  Caerlyon.  She  was  married  to 
Lord  Gaunt  while  the  Count  lay  ill  of  his  wound,  and  came  to  dwell 
at  Gaunt  House,  and  to  figure  for  a  short  time  in  the  splendid  Court 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Fox  had  toasted  her.  Morris  and  Sheridan 
had  written  songs  about  her.  Malmesbury  had  made  her  his  best 
bow ;  Walpole  had  pronounced  her  charming ;  Devonshire  had  been 
almost  jealous  of  her ;  but  she  was  scared  by  the  wild  pleasures  and 
gaieties  of  the  society  into  which  she  was  flung,  and  after  she  had 
borne  a  couple  of  sons,  shrank  away  into  a  life  of  devout  seclusion. 
No  wonder  that  my  Lord  Steyne,  who  liked  pleasure  and  cheerful- 
ness, was  not  often  seen  after  their  marriage,  by  the  side  of  this 
trembling,  silent,  superstitious,  unhappy  lady. 

The  before-mentioned  Tom  Eaves  (who  has  no  part  in  this 
history,  except  that  he  knew  all  the  great  folks  in  London,  and  the 
stories  and  mysteries  of  each  family)  had  further  information 
regarding  my  Lady  Steyne,  which  may  or  may  not  be  true.  "  The 
humiliations,"  Tom  used  to  say,  "  which  that  woman  has  been  made 
to  undergo,  in  her  own  house,  have  been  frightM ;  Lord  Steyne  has 
made  her  sit  down  to  table  with  women  with  whom  I  would  rather 
die  than  allow  Mrs.  Eaves  to  associate — with  Lady  Crackenbury, 
with  Mrs.  Chippenham,  with  Madame  de  la  Cnichecass^e,  the 
FiiMich  secretary's  wife  "  (from  every  one  of  which  ladies  Tom  Eaves 
— who  would  have  sacrificed  his  wife  for  knowing  them — was  too 
glad  to  get  a  bow  or  a  dinner),  "with  the  reigning  favourite,  in  a 
word.  And  do  you  suppose  that  that  woman,  of  that  family,  who 
are  as  proud  as  the  Bourbons,  and  to  whom  the  Steynes  are  but 
lacqueys,  mushrooms  of  yesterday  (for,  after  all,  they  are  not  of  the 
old  Gaunts,  but  of  a  minor  and  doubtful  branch  of  the  house) ;  do 
you  suppose,  I  say  "  (the  reader  must  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  always 
Tom  Eaves  who  speaks),  "that  the  Marchioness  of  Steyne,  the 
haughtiest  woman  in  England,  would  bend  down  to  her  husband  so 
submissively,  if  there  were  not  some  cause  1  Pooh  !  I  tell  you  there 
are  secret  reasons,     I  tell  you,  that  in  the  emigration,  the  Abb^  de 


456  VANITY    FAIR 

la  Marche  who  was  here,  and  was  employed  in  the  Quiberoon  business 

with  Puisaye  and  Tinteniac,  was  the  same  Colonel  of  Mousquetaires 

Grris  with  whom  Steyne  fought  in  the  year  '86 — that  he  and  the 

Marchioness  met  again :  that  it  was  after  the  Reverend  Colonel  was 

shot  in  Brittany,  and  Lady  Steyne  took  to  those  extreme  practices 

of  devotion  which  she  carries  on  now;  for  she  is   closeted  with 

her  director  every  day — she  is  at  service  at  Spanish  Place,  every 

morning,  I've  watched  her  there — that  is,   I've  happened  to  be 

passing  there — and  depend  on  it  there's  a  mystery  in  her  case. 

People  are  not  so  unhappy  unless  they  have  something  to  repent 

of,"  added  Tom  Eaves  with  a  knowing  wag  of  his  head;    "and 

depend  on  it,  that  woman  would  not  be  so  submissive  as  she  is,  if 

,    the  Marquis  had  not  some  sword  to  hold  over  her." 

/  So,  if  Mr.  Eaves's  information  be  correct,  it  is  very  likely  that 

/       this  lady,  in  her  high  station,  had  to  submit  to  many  a  private 

1       indignity,  and  to  hide  many  secret  griefs  under  a  calm  face.     And 

\     let  us,  my  brethren  who  have  not  our  names  in  the  Red  Book, 

\  console  ourselves  by  thinking  comfortably  how  miserable  our  betters 

jmay  be,  and  that  Damocles,  who  sits  on  satin   cushions,  and   is 

^  served  on  gold  plate,  has  an  awful  sword  hanging  over  his  head  in 

\  the  shape  of  a  bailiff,  or  an  hereditary  disease,  or  a  family  secret, 

\which  peeps  out  every  now  and  then  from  the  embroidered  arras  in 

a  ghastly  manner,  and  will  be  sure  to  drop  one  day  or  the  other  in 

the  right  place. 

In  comparing,  too,  the  poor  man's  situation  with  that  of  the 
great,  there  is  (always  according  to  Mr.  Eaves)  another  source  of 
comfort  for  the  former.  You  who  have  little  or  no  patrimony  to 
bequeath  or  to  inherit,  may  be  on  good  terms  with  your  father  or 
your  son,  whereas  the  heir  of  a  great  prince,  such  as  my  Lord 
Steyne,  must  naturally  be  angry  at  being  kept  out  of  his  kingdom, 
and  eye  the  occupant  of  it  with  no  very  agreeable  glances.  "  Take 
it  as  a  rule,"  this  sardonic  old  Eaves  would  say,  "  the  fathers  and 
elder  sons  of  all  great  famihes  hate  each  other.  The  Crown  Prince 
is  always  in  opposition  to  the  crown  or  hankering  after  it. 
Shakspeare  knew  the  world,  my  good  sir,  and  when  he  describes 
Prince  Hal  (from  whose  family  the  Gaunts  pretend  to  be  descended, 
though  they  are  no  more  related  to  John  of  Gaunt  than  you  are) 
trying  on  his  father's  coronet,  he  gives  you  a  natural  description  of 
Z'  all  heirs-apparent.  If  you  were  heir  to  a  dukedom  and  a  thousand 
pounds  a  day,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  would  not  wish  for  posses- 
sion? Pooh  !  And  it  stands  to  reason  that  every  great  man,  having 
experienced  this  feeling  towards  his  father,  must  be  aware  that 
his  son  entertains  it  towards  himself;  and  so  they  can't  but  be 
suspicious  and  hostile. 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  457 

"  Then  again,  as  to  the  feeling  of  elder  towards  younger  sons. 
My  dear  su*,  you  ought  to  know  that  every  elder  brother  looks 
upon  the  cadets  of  the  house  as  his  natural  enemies,  who  deprive 
him  of  so  much  ready  money  which  ought  to  be  his  by  right.  I 
have  often  heard  George  Mac  Turk,  Lord  Bajazet's  eldest  son,  say 
that  if  he  had  his  will  when  he  came  to  the  title,  he  would  do 
what  the  sultans  do,  and  clear  the  estate  by  chopping  off  all  his 
younger  brothers'  heads  at  once ;  and  so  the  case  is,  more  or  less, 
with  them  all.  I  tell  you  they  are  all  Turks  in  their  hearts.  Pooh  ! 
sir,  they  know  the  world."  And  here,  haply,  a  great  man  coming 
up,  Tom  Eaves's  hat  would  drop  off  his  head,  and  he  would  rush 
forward  with  a  bow  and  a  grin,  which  showed  that  he  knew  the 
world  too — in  the  Tomeavesian  way,  that  is.  And  having  laid  out 
every  shilling  of  his  fortune  on  an  annuity,  Tom  could  afford  to 
bear  no  malice  to  his  nephews  and  nieces,  and  to  have  no  other 
feeling  with  regard  to  his  betters,  but  a  constant  and  generous 
desire  to  dine  with  them. 

Between  the  Marchioness  and  the  natural  and  tender  regard  of 
mother  for  children,  there  was  that  cruel  barrier  placed  of  differ- 
ence of  faith.  The  very  love  which  she  might  feel  for  her  sons, 
only  served  to  render  the  timid  and  pious  lady  more  fearful  and 
unhappy.  The  gulf  which  separated  them  was  fatal  and  impass- 
able. She  could  not  stretch  her  weak  arms  across  it,  or  draw  her 
children  over  to  that  side  away  from  which  her  belief  told  her  there 
was  no  safety.  During  the  youth  of  his  sons,  Lord  Steyne,  who 
was  a  good  scholar  and  amateur  casuist,  had  no  better  sport  in  the 
evening  after  dinner  in  the  country  than  in  setting  the  boys'  tutor, 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Trail  (now  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Ealing),  on  her 
Ladyship's  director.  Father  Mole,  over  their  wine,  and  in  pitting 
Oxford  against  St.  Acheul.  He  cried  "  Bravo,  Latimer !  "Well 
said,  Loyola ! "  alternately ;  he  promised  Mole  a  bishopric  if  he 
would  come  over;  and  vowed  he  would  use  all  his  influence  to 
get  Trail  a  Cardinal's  hat  if  he  would  secede.  Neither  divine 
allowed  himself  to  be  conquered ;  and  though  the  fond  mother 
hoped  that  her  youngest  and  favourite  son  would  be  reconciled  to 
her  Church — -his  mother  church — a  sad  and  awful  disappointment 
awaited  the  devout  lady — a  disappointment  which  seemed  to  be  a 
judgment  upon  her  for  jthe_jin  of  her  mamage. 

My  Lord  Gaunt  married,  as  every  person  who  frequents  the 
Peerage  knows,  the  Lady  Blanche  Thistlewood,  a  daughter  of  the 
noble  house  of  Bareacres,  before  mentioned  in  this  veracious  history. 
A  wing  of  Gaunt  house  was  assigned  to  this  couple ;  for  the  head 
of  the  family  chose  to  govern  it,  and  while  he  reigned  to  reign 
supreme :  his  son  and  heir,  however,  living  little  at  home,  disagree- 


458  VANITY    FAIR 

ing  with  his  wife,  and  borrowing  upon  post-obits  such  moneys  as  he 
required  beyond  the  very  moderate  sums  which  his  father  was 
disposed  to  allow  him.  The  Marquis  knew  every  shilling  of  his 
son's  debts.  At  his  lamented  demise,  he  was  found  himself  to  be 
possessor  of  many  of  his  heir's  bonds,  purchased  for  their  benefit, 
and  devised  by  his  Lordship  to  the  children  of  his  younger  son. 

As,  to  my  Lord  Gaunt's  dismay,  and  the  chuckling  delight  of 
his  natural  enemy  and  father,  the  Lady  Gaimt  had  no  children — 
the  Lord  George  Gaunt  was  desired  to  return  from  Vienna,  where 
ho  was  engaged  in  waltzing  and  diplomacy,  and  to  contract  a  matri- 
monial alliance  with  the  Honourable  Joan,  only  daughter  of  John 
Johnes,  First  Baron  Helvellyn,  and  head  of  the  firm  of  Jones, 
Brown,  and  Robinson,  of  Threadneedle  Street,  Bankers ;  from  which 
union  sprang  several  sons  and  daughters,  whose  doings  do  not  apper 
tain  to  this  story. 

The  marriage  at  first  was  a  happy  and  prosperous  one.  My 
Lord  George  Gaunt  could  not  only  read,  but  write  pretty  correctly. 
He  spoke  French  with  considerable  fluency ;  and  was  one  of  the 
finest  waltzers  in  Europe.  With  these  talents,  and  his  interest  at 
home,  there  was  little  doubt  that  his  Lordship  would  rise  to  the 
highest  dignities  in  his  profession.  The  lady,  his  wife,  felt  that 
courts  were  her  sphere ;  and  her  wealth  enabled  her  to  receive 
splendidly  in  those  Continental  towns  whither  her  husband's  diplo- 
matic duties  led  him.  There  was  talk  of  appointing  him  minister, 
and  bets  were  laid  at  the  Travellers'  that  he  would  be  ambassador 
ere  long,  when  of  a  sudden,  rumours  arrived  of  the  secretary's 
extraordinary  behaviour.  At  a  grand  diplomatic  dinner  given  by 
his  chief,  he  had  started  up,  and  declared  that  a  /ja^e  de  fole  gras 
was  poisoned.  He  went  to  a  ball  at  the  hotel  of  the  Bavarian 
envoy,  the  Count  de  Springbock-Hohenlaufen,  with  his  head  shaved, 
and  dressed  as  a  Capuchin  friar.  It  was  not  a  masked  ball,  as  some 
folks  wanted  to  persuade  you.  It  was  something  queer,  people 
whispered.     His  grandfather  was  so.     It  was  in  the  family. 

His  wife  and  family  returned  to  this  country,  and  took  up  their 
abode  at  Gaunt  House.  Lord  George  gave  up  his  post  on  the 
European  continent,  and  was  gazetted  to  Brazil.  But  people  knew 
better ;  he  never  returned  from  that  Brazil  expedition — never  died 
there — never  lived  there  -  never  was  there  at  all.  He  was  nowhere  : 
he  was  gone  out  altogether.  "  Brazil,"  said  one  gossip  to  another, 
with  a  grin — "  Brazil  is  St.  John's  Wood.  Rio  Janeiro  is  a  cottage 
surrounded  by  four  walls ;  and  George  Gaunt  is  accredited  to  a 
keeper,  who  has  invested  him  with  tlie  order  of  the  Strait-Waist- 
coat." These  are  the  kinds  of  epitaphs  which  men  pass  over  one 
?inother  in  Vanity  Fair. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  459 

Twice  or  thrice  iu  a  week,  in  the  earliest  morning,  the  poor 
mother  went  for  her  sins  and  saw  the  poor  invalid.  Sometimes 
he  laughed  at  her  (and  his  laughter  was  more  pitiful  than  to  hear 
him  cry) ;  sometimes  she  found  tile  brilliant  dandy  diplomatist  of 
the  Congress  of  Vienna  dragging  about  a  child's  toy,  or  nursing  the 
keeper's  baby's  doll.  Sometimes  he  knew  her  and  Father  Mole,  her 
director  and  companion  :  oftener  he  forgot  her,  as  he  had  done  wife,.,  . 
cliildreu,  love,  ambition,  vanity.  But  he  remembered  his  dinner- 
iiom-,  and  used  to  cry  if  his  wine-and- water  was  not  strong  enough. 
^  It  was  the  mysterious  taint  of  the  blood  :  the  poor  mother  had 
'  brougHFlt  fromTier  own  ancient  race.  The  evil  had  broken  outH 
once"or  twice  in  the  father's  family,  long  before  Lady  Steyue's  sins 
had  begun,  or  her  fasts  and  tears  and  penances  had  l3een  offered  in 
their  expiation.  The  pride  of  the  race  was  struck  down  as  the 
firstborn  of  Pharaoh.  The  dark  mark  of  fate  and  doom  was  on 
the  threshold, — the  tall  old  threshold  surmounted  by  coronets  and 
carved  heraldry. 

The  absent  lord's  children  meanwhile  prattled  and  grew  on  quite 
unconscious  that  the  doom  was  over  them  too.  First  they  talked 
of  their  father,  and  devised  plans  against  his  return.  Then  the 
name  of  the  living  dead  man  was  less  frequently  in  their  mouth 
— then  not  mentioned  at  all.  But  the  stricken  old  grandmother 
trembled  to  think  that  these  too  were  the  inheritors  of  their  father's 
shame  as  well  as  of  his  honours  :  and  watched  sickening  for  the  day 
when  the  awful  ancestral  curse  should  come  down  on  them. 

This  dark  presentiment  also  haunted  Lord  Steyne.  He  tried  to 
lay  the  horrid  bedside  ghost  in  Red  Seas  of  wine  and  jollity,  and 
lost  sight  of  it  sometimes  in  the  crowd  and  rout  of  his  pleasures. 
But  it  always  came  back  to  him  when  alone,  and  seemed  to  grow 
more  threatening  with  years.  "J  Jiave_taken_your  so^"  it  said, 
"  why^pt  you  j  I  may  shut  you  up  in  a  prison  some  day  like  your 
son  Greorge.  I  may  tap  you  on  the  head  to-morrow,  and  away  go 
pleasure  and  honours,  feasts  and  beauty,  friends,  flatterers,  French 
cooks,  fine  horses  and  houses — in  exchange  for  a  prison,  a  keeper, 
and  a  straw  mattress  like  George  Gaunt's."  And  then  my  lord 
would  defy  the  ghost  which  threatened  him :  for  he  knew  of  a 
remedy  by  which  he  could  baulk  his  enemy. 

So  there  was  splendour  and  wealth,  but  no  great  happiness  per- 
chance, behind  the  tall  carved  portals  of  Gaunt  House  with  its 
smoky  coronets  and  ciphers.  The  feasts  there  were  of  the  grandest 
in  London,  but  there  was  not  over-much  content  therewith,  except 
among  the  guests  who  sate  at  my  lord's  table.  Had  he  not  been  so 
great  a  Prince  very  few  possibly  would  have  visited  him  :  but  in 
Vanity  Fair  the  sins  of  very  great  personages  are  looked  at  indul- 


460  VANITY    FAIR 

gently.  "  Nous  regardons  a  deux  fois  "  (as  the  French  lady  said) 
before  we  condemn  a  person  of  my  lord's  undoubted  quality.  Some 
notorious  carpers  and  squeamish  moralists  might  be  sulky  with  Lord 
Steyne,  but  they  were  glad  enough  to  come  when  he  asked  them. 

"Lord  Steyne  is  really  too  bad,"  Lady  Slingstone  said,  "but 
everybody  goes,  and  of  course  I  shall  see  that  my  girls  come  to  no 
harm."  "  His  Lordship  is  a  man  to  whom  I  owe  much,  everything 
in  hfe,"  said  the  Right  Reverend  Doctor  Trail,  thinking  that  the 
Archbishop  was  rather  shaky ;  and  Mrs.  Trail  and  the  young  ladies 
would  as  soon  have  missed  going  to  church  as  to  one  of  his  Lord- 
ship's parties.  "  His  morals  are  bad,"  said  little  Lord  Southdown 
to  his  sister,  who  meekly  expostulated,  having  heard  temfic  legends 
from  her  mamma  with  respect  to  the  doings  at  Gaunt  House ;  "  but 
hang  it,  he's  got  the  best  dry  Sillery  in  Europe  ! "  And  as  for  Sir 
Pitt  Crawley,  Bart. — Sir  Pitt  that  pattern  of  decorum.  Sir  Pitt 
who  had  led  off  at  missionary  meetings, — he  never  for  one  moment 
thought  of  not  going  too.  "Where  you  see  such  persons  as  the 
Bishop  of  Ealing  and  the  Countess  of  Shngstone,  you  may  be  pretty 
sure,  Jane,"  the  Baronet  would  say,  "that  we  cannot  be  wrong. 
The  great  rank  and  station  of  Lord  Steyne  put  him  in  a  position 
to  command  people  in  our  station  in  life.  The  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  a  County,  my  dear,  is  a  respectable  man.  Besides,  George  Gaunt 
and  I  were  intimate  in  early  life  :  he  was  my  junior  when  we  were 
attaches  at  Pumpernickel  together." 

In  a  word,  everybody  went  to  wait  upon  this  great  man — 
everybody  who  was  asked :  as  you  the  reader  (do  not  say  nay) 
or  I  the  writer  hereof  would  go  if  we  had  an  invitation. 


^^ 


y 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

m  fVHICH  THE  READER  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  VERY 
BEST  OF  COMPANY 

AT  last  Becky's  kindness  and  attention  to  the  chief  of  her 
l\  husband's  family  were  destined  to  meet  with  an  exceeding 
-*  ■•  great  reward;  a  reward  which,  though  certainly  somewhat 
unsubstantial,  the  little  woman  coveted  with  greater  eagerness  than 
more  positive  benefits.  If  she  did  not  wish  to  lead  a  virtuous  life, 
at  least  she  desired  to  enjoy  a  character  for  virtue,  and  we  know 
that  no  la'dylii  the  genteel  world  can  possess  this  desideratimi,  until 
she  has  put  on  a  train  and  feathers,  and  has  been  presented  to  her 
Sovereign  at  Court.  From  that  august  interview  they  come  out 
stamped  as  honest  women.  The  Lord  Chamberlain  gives  them  a 
certificate  of  virtue.  And  as  dubious  goods  or  letters  are  passed 
through  an  oven  at  quarantine,  sprinkled  with  aromatic  vinegar, 
and  then  pronounced  clean,  many  a  lady  whose  reputation  would 
be  doubtful  otherwise  and  liable  to  give  infection,  passes  through 
the  wholesome  ordeal  of  the  Royal  presence,  and  issues  from  it  free 
from  all  taint. 

It  might  be  very  well  for  my  Lady  Bareacres,  my  Lady  Tufto, 
Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  in  the  country,  and  other  ladies  who  had  come 
into  contact  with  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  to  cry  fie  at  the  idea  of 
the  odious  little  adventuress  making  her  curtsey  before  the  Sovereign, 
and  to  declare  that,  if  dear  good  Queen  Charlotte  had  been  alive, 
she  never  would  have  admitted  such  an  extremely  ill-regulated  per- 
sonage into  Her  chaste  drawing-room.  But  when  we  consider,  that 
it  was  the  First  Gentleman  in  Europe  in  whose  high  presence  Mrs. 
Rawdon  passed  her  examination,  and  as  it  were,  took  her  degree  in 
reputation,  it  surely  must  be  flat  disloyalty  to  doubt  any  more  about 
her  virtue.  I,  for  my  part,  look  back  with  love  and  awe  to  that 
Great  Character  in  history.  Ah,  what  a  high  and  noble  apprecia- 
tion of  Gentlewomanhood  there  must  have  been  in  Vanity  Fair, 
when  that  revered  and  august  being  was  invested,  by  the  imiversal 
acclaim  of  the  refined  and  educated  portion  of  this  empire,  with  the 
title  of  Premier  Gentilhomme  of  his  Kingdom.  Do  you  remember, 
dear  M ,  oh  friend  of  my  youth,  how  one  blissful  night  five-and- 


462  VANITY    FAIR 

twenty  years  since,  the  "  Hypocrite "  being  acted,  Elliston  being 
manager,  Dowton  and  Liston  performers,  two  boys  had  leave  from 
their  loyal  masters  to  go  out  from  Slaughter  House  School  where 
they  were  educated,  and  to  appear  on  Drury  Lane  Stage,  amongst 
a  crowd  which  assembled  there  to  greet  the  King.  THE  KING  1 
There  he  was.  Beefeaters  were  before  the  august  box  :  the  Marquis 
of  Steyne  (Lord  q^  the  Powder  Closet)  and  other  great  officers  of 
state  were  behind  \air  on  which  he  sate,  He  sate — florid  of 

face,  portly  f,-,,/, ..i.^n,  covered  with  orders,  and  in  a  rich  curling 
head  of  hair — tf  ow  we  sang  God  save  him  !  How  the  house  rocked 
and  shouted  with  that  magnificent  music.  How  they  cheered,  and 
cried,  and  waved  handkerchiefs.  Ladies  wept :  mothers  clasped 
their  children  :  some  fainted  with  emotion.  People  were  suffocated 
in  the  pit,  shrieks  and  groans  rising  up  amidst  the  writhing  and 
shouting  mass  there  of  his  people  who  were,  and  indeed  showed 
themselves  almost  to  be,  ready  to  die  for  him.  Yes,  we  saw  him. 
Fate  cannot  deprive  us  of  that.  Others  have  seen  Napoleon.  Some 
few  still  exist  who  have  beheld  Frederick  the  Great,  Doctor  Johnson, 
Marie  Antoinette,  &c. — be  it  our  reasonable  boast  to  our  children, 
that  we  saw  George  the  Good,  the  Magnificent,  the  Great. 

Well,  there  came  a  happy  day  in  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  exist- 
ence when  this  angel  was  admitted  into  the  paradise  of  a  Court 
which  she  coveted ;  her  sister-in-law  acting  as  her  godmother.  On 
the  appointed  day,  Sir  Pitt  and  his  lady,  in  their  great  family 
carriage  (just  newly  built,  and  ready  for  the  Baronet's  assumption 
of  the  office  of  High  Sheriff"  of  his  county),  drove  up  to  the  little 
house  in  Curzon  Street,  to  the  edification  of  Raggles,  who  was  watch- 
ing from  his  greengi'ocer's  shop,  and  saw  fine  plumes  within,  and 
enormous  bunches  of  flowers  in  the  breasts  of  the  new  livery-coats 
of  the  footmen. 

Sir  Pitt,  in  a  glittering  uniform,  descended  and  went  into  Curzon 
Street,  his  sword  between  his  legs.  Little  Rawdon  stood  with  his 
face  against  the  parlour  window-panes,  smiling  and  nodding  with  all 
his  might  to  his  aunt  in  the  carriage  within ;  and  presently  Sir  Pitt 
issued  forth  from  the  house  again,  leading  forth  a  lady  with  grand 
feathers,  covered  with  a  white  shawl,  and  holding  up  daintily  a  train 
of  magnificent  brocade.  She  stepped  into  the  vehicle  as  if  she  were 
a  princess  and  accustomed  all  her  Hfe  to  go  to  Court,  smihng 
graciously  on  the  footman  at  the  door,  and  on  Sir  Pitt,  who  followed 
her  into  the  carriage. 

Then  Rawdon  followed  in  his  old  Guards'  uniform,  which  had 
grown  woefully  shabby,  and  was  much  too  tight.  He  was  to  have 
followed  the  procession,  and  waited  upon  his  Sovereign  in  a  cab ; 
but  that  his  good-natured  sister-in-law  insisted  that  they  should 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  463 

be  a  family  party.  The  coach  was  large,  the  ladies  not  very  big, 
they  would  hold  their  trains  in  their  laps — finally,  the  four  went 
fraternally  together ;  and  their  carriage  presently  joined  the  line  of 
royal  equipages  which  was  making  its  way  down  Piccadilly  and  St. 
James's  Street,  towards  the  old  brick  palace  where  the  Star  of 
Brunswick  was  in  waiting  to  receive  his  nobles  and  gentlefolk. 

Becky  felt  as  if  she  could  bless  the  peopl*^  xt  of  the  carriage 
windows,  so  elated  was  she  in  spirit,  and  ^l  ^^  »  sense  had  she 

of  the  dignified  position  which  she  had  at  last  atrai^;  In  life.  Even 
our  Becky  had  her  weaknesses,  and  as  one  often  sees liow  men  pride 
themselves  upon  excellences  which  others  are  slow  to  perceive  :  how, 
for  instance,  Comus  firmly  believes  that  he  is  the  greatest  tragic 
actor  in  England;  how  Brown,  the  famous  novelist,  longs  to  be 
considered,  not  a  man  of  genius,  but  a  man  of  fashion ;  while 
Robinson,  the  great  lawyer,  does  not  in  the  least  care  about  his 
reputation  in  Westminster  Hall,  but  believes  himself  incomparable 
across  country,  and  at  a  five-barred  gate — so  to  be,  and  to  be  thought, 
a  respectable  woman  was  Becky's  aim  in  life,  and  she  got  up  the 
genteel  with  amazing  assiduity,  readiness,  and  success.  We  have 
said,  there  were  times  when  she  believed  herself  to  be  a  fine  lady, 
and  forgot  that  there  was  no  money  in  the  chest  at  home — duns 
round  the  gate,  tradesmen  to  coax  and  wheedle — no  ground  to  walk 
upon,  in  a  word.  And  as  she  went  to  Court  in  the  carriage,  the 
family  carriage,  she  adopted  a  demeanour  so  grand,  self-satisfied, 
deliberate,  and  imposing,  that  it  made  even  Lady  Jane  laugh.  She 
walked  into  the  royal  apartments  with  a  toss  of  the  head  which 
would  have  befitted  an  empress,  and  I  have  no  doubt  had  she  been 
one,  she  would  have  become  the  character  perfectly. 

We  are  authorised  to  state  that  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  costume 
de  cour  on  the  occasion  of  her  presentation  to  the  Sovereign  was  of 
the  most  elegant  and  brilliant  description.  Some  ladies  we  may 
have  seen — we  who  wear  stars  and  cordons,  and  attend  the  St. 
James's  assemblies,  or  we,  who,  in  muddy  boots,  dawdle  up  and 
down  Pall  Mall,  and  peep  into  the  coaches  as  they  drive  up  with  the 
great  folks  in  their  feathers — some  ladies  of  fashion,  I  say,  we  may 
have  seen,  about  two  o'clock  of  the  forenoon  of  a  levee  day,  as  the 
laced -jacketed  band  of  the  Life  Guards  are  blowing  triumphal 
marches  seated  on  those  prancing  music-stools,  their  cream-coloured 
chargers — who  are  by  no  means  lovely  and  enticing  objects  at  that 
early  period  of  noon.  A  stout  countess  of  sixty,  d^collet^e,  painted, 
wrinkled  with  rouge  up  to  her  drooping  eyelids,  and  diamonds 
twinkling  in  her  wig,  is  a  wholesome  and  edifying,  but  not  a  pleasant 
sight.  She  has  the  faded  look  of  a  St.  James's  Street  illumination, 
as  it  may  be  seen  of  an  early  morning,  when  half  the  lamps  are  out, 


/ 


464  VANITY    FAIR 

and  the  others  are  blinking  wanly,  as  if  they  were  about  to  vanish 
like  ghosts  before  the  dawn.  Such  charms  as  those  of  which  we 
catch  glimpses  while  her  ladyship's  carriage  passes  should  appear 
abroad  at  night  alone.  If  even  Cynthia  looks  haggard  of  an  after- 
noon, as  we  may  see  her  sometimes  in  the  present  winter  season, 
with  Phoebus  staring  her  out  of  countenance  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  heavens,  how  much  more  can  old  Lady  Castlemouldy  keep 
her  head  up  when  the  sun  is  shining  full  upon  it  through  the  chariot 
windows,  and  showing  all  the  chinks  and  crannies  with  which  time 
has  marked  her  face !  No.  Drawing-rooms  should  be  announced 
for  November,  or  the  first  foggy  day  :  or  the  elderly  sultanas  of  our 
Vanity  Fair  should  drive  up  in  closed  litters,  descend  in  a  covered 
way,  and  make  their  curtsey  to  the  Sovereign  under  the  protection 
of  lamplight. 

Our  beloved  Rebecca  had  no  need,  however,  of  any  such  a 
friendly  halo  to  set  off  her  beauty.  Her  complexion  could  bear  any 
sunshine  as  yet ;  and  her  dress,  though  if  you  were  to  see  it  now, 
any  present  lady  of  Vanity  Fair  would  pronounce  it  to  be  the  most 
foolish  and  preposterous  attire  ever  worn,  was  as  handsome  in  her 
eyes  and  those  of  the  public,  some  five-and-twenty  years  since,  as 
the  most  brilliant  costume  of  the  most  famous  beauty  of  the  present 
season.  A  score  of  years  hence  that  too,  that  milliner's  wonder, 
will  have  passed  into  the  domain  of  the  absurd,  along  with  all 
previous  vanities.  But  we  are  wandering  too  much.  Mrs.  Rawdon's 
dress  was  pronounced  to  be  charmante  on  the  eventful  day  of  her 
presentation.  Even  good  little  Lady  Jane  was  forced  to  acknow- 
ledge this  effect,  as  she  looked  at  her  kinswoman;  and  owned 
sorrowfully  to  herself  that  she  was  quite  inferior  in  taste  to  Mrs. 
Becky. 

She  did  not  know  how  much  care,  thought,  and  genius  Mrs. 
Rawdon  had  bestowed  upon  that  garment.  Rebecca  had  as  good 
taste  as  any  milliner  in  Europe,  and  such  a  clever  way  of  doing 
things  as  Lady  Jane  little  understood.  The  latter  quickly  spied 
out  the  magnificence  of  the  brocade  of  Becky's  train,  and  the  splen- 
dour of  the  lace  on  her  dress. 

The  brocade  was  an  old  remnant,  Becky  said ;  and  as  for  the 
lace,  it  was  a  great  bargain.     She  had  had  it  these  hundred  years. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Crawley,  it  must  have  cost  a  little  fortune," 
Lady  Jane  said,  looking  down  at  her  own  lace,  which  was  not  nearly 
so  good ;  and  then  examining  the  quality  of  the  ancient  brocade 
which  formed  the  material  of  Mrs.  Rawdon's  Court  dress,  she  felt 
inclined  to  say  that  she  could  not  afford  such  fine  clothing,  but 
checked  that  speech,  with  an  effort,  as  one  uncharitable  to  her 
kinswoman. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  465 

And  yet,  if  Lady  Jane  had  known  all,  I  think  even  her  kindly 
temper  would  have  failed  her.  The  fact  is,  when  she  was  putting 
Sir  Pitt's  house  in  order,  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  found  the  lace  and  the 
brocade  in  old  wardrobes,  the  property  of  the  former  ladies  of  the 
house,  and  had  quietly  carried  the  goods  home,  and  had  suited  them 
to  her  own  little  person.  Briggs  saw  her  take  them,  asked  no 
questions,  told  no  stories ;  but  I  believe  quite  sympathised  with 
her  on  this  matter,  and  so  would  many  another  honest  woman. 

And  the  diamonds — "  Where  the  doose  did  you  get  the  diamonds, 
Becky?"  said  her  husband,  admiring  some  jewels  which  he  had 
never  seen  before,  and  which  sparkled  in  her  ears  and  on  her  neck 
with  brilliance  and  profusion. 

Becky  blushed  a  little,  and  looked  at  him  hard  for  a  moment. 
Pitt  Crawley  blushed  a  little  too,  and  looked  out  of  window.  The 
fact  is,  he  had  given  her  a  very  small  portion  of  the  brilliants ;  a 
pretty  diamond  clasp,  which  confined  a  pearl  necklace  which  she 
wore;  and  the  Baronet  had  omitted  to  mention  the  circumstance 
to  his  lady. 

Becky  looked  at  her  husband,  and  then  at  Sir  Pitt,  with  an  air 
of  saucy  triumph — as  much  as  to  say,  "  Shall  I  betray  you  1 " 

"  Guess  !  "  she  said  to  her  husband.  "  Why,  you  silly  man," 
she  continued,  "where  do  you  suppose  I  got  them? — all  except 
the  little  clasp,  which  a  dear  friend  of  mine  gave  me  long  ago.  I 
hired  them,  to  be  sure.  I  hired  them  at  Mr.  Polonius's,  in  Coventry 
Street.  You  don't  suppose  that  all  the  diamonds  which  go  to 
Court  belong  to  the  wearers ;  hke  those  beautiful  stones  which 
Lady  Jane  has,  and  which  are  much  handsomer  than  any  which  I 
have,  I  am  certain." 

"  They  are  family  jewels,"  said  Sir  Pitt,  again  looking  uneasy. 
And  in  this  family  conversation  the  carriage  rolled  down  the  street, 
until  its  cargo  was  finally  discharged  at  the  gates  of  the  palace  where 
the  Sovereign  was  sitting  in  state. 

The  diamonds,  which  had  created  Rawdon's  admiration,  never 
went  back  to  Mr.  Polonius,  of  Coventry  Street,  and  that  gentleman,_^ 
never  applied  for  their  restoration ;  but  they  retired  intoajittle 
private  repository,  in  an  old  desk,  which  Amelia  Sedley  had  given 
her  years  and  years  ago,  and  in  which  Becky  kept  a  number  of 
useful  and,  perhaps,  valuable  things,  about  which  her  husband  knew_^ 
nothing.  To  know  nothing,  or  little,  is  in  the  natiu-e  of  some 
husbands.  To  hide,  in  the  nature  of  how  many  women  1  0  ladies  ! 
how  many  of  you  have  surreptitious  milliners'  bills?  How  many 
of  you  have  gowns  and  bracelets,  which  you  daren't  show,  or  which 
you  wear  trembling  ?  —  trembling,  and  coaxing  with  smiles  the 
husband  by  your  side,  who  does  not  know  the  new  velvet  gown  from 


466  VANITY    FAIR 

the  old  one,  or  the  new  bracelet  from  last  year's,  or  has  any  notion 
that  the  ragged-looking  yellow  lace  scarf  cost  forty  guineas,  and  that 
Madame  Bobinot  is  writing  dunning  letters  every  week  for  the  money  ! 

Thus  Rawdon  knew  nothing  about  the  brilliant  diamond  ear- 
rings, or  the  superb  brilliant  ornament  which  decorated  the  fair 
bosom  of  his  lady  ;  but  Lord  Steyne,  who  was  in  his  place  at  Court, 
as  Lord  of  the  Powder  Closet,  and  one  of  the  great  dignitaries  and 
illustrious  defences  of  the  throne  of  England,  and  came  up  with  all 
his  stars,  garters,  collars,  and  cordons,  and  paid  particular  attention 
to  the  little  woman,  knew  whence  the  jewels  came,  and  who  paid 
for  them. 

As  he  bowed  over  her  he  smiled,  and  quoted  the  hackneyed 
and  beautiful  lines  from  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  about  Belinda's 
diamonds,  "  which  Jews  might  kiss  and  infidels  adore." 

"  But  I  hope  your  Lordship  is  orthodox,"  said  the  little  lady, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head.  And  many  ladies  round  about  whispered 
and  talked,  and  many  gentlemen  nodded  and  whispered,  as  they 
saw  what  marked  attention  the  great  nobleman  was  paying  to  the 
little  adventuress. 

What  were  the  circumstances  of  the  interview  between  Rebecca 
Crawley,  nee  Sharp,  and  her  Imperial  Master,  it  does  not  become 
such  a  feeble  and  inexperienced  pen  as  mine  to  attempt  to  relate. 
The  dazzled  eyes  close  before  that  Magnificent  Idea.  Loyal  respect 
and  decency  tell  even  the  imagination  not  to  look  too  keenly  and 
audaciously  about  the  sacred  audience-chamber,  but  to  back  away 
rapidly,  silently,  and  respectfully,  making  profound  bows  out  of  the 
August  Presence. 

This  may  be  said,  that  in  all  London  there  was  no  more  loyal 
heart  than  Becky's  after  this  interview.  The  name  of  her  King  was 
always  on  her  lips,  and  he  was  proclaimed  by  her  to  be  the  most 
charming  of  men.  She  went  to  Colnaghi's  and  ordered  the  finest 
portrait  of  him  that  art  had  produced,  and  credit  could  supply. 
She  chose  that  famous  one  in  which  the  best  of  monarchs  is  repre- 
sented in  a  frock-coat  with  a  fur  collar,  and  breeches  and  silk 
stockings,  simpering  on  a  sofa  from  under  his  curly  brown  wig.  She 
had  him  painted  in  a  brooch  and  wore  it — indeed  she  amused  and 
somewhat  pestered  her  acquaintance  with  her  perpetual  talk  about 
his  urbanity  and  beauty.  Who  knows  1  Perhaps  the  little  woman 
thought  she  might  play  the  part  of  a  Maintenon  or  a  Pompadour. 

But  the  finest  sport  of  all  after  her  presentation  was  to  hear  her 
talk  virtuously.  She  had  a  few  female  acquaintances,  not,  it  must 
be  owned,  of  the  very  highest  reputation  in  Vanity  Fair.  But  being 
made  an  honest  woman  of,  so  to  speak,  Becky  would  not  consort  any 
longer  with  these  dubious  ones,  and  cut  Lady  Crackenbury  when 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  467 

tlu'  latter  nodded  to  her  from  her  opera-box ;  and  gave  Mrs. 
Washington  White  the  go-by  in  the  Ring.  "  One  must,  my  dear, 
sliow  one  is  somebody,"  she  said=  "One  mustn't  be  seen  with 
doubtful  people  I  pity  Lady  Crackenbury  from  my  heart ;  and 
Mrs  Washington  White  may  be  a  very  good-natured  person.  You 
may  go  and  dine  with  them,  as  you  like  your  rubber.  But  / 
mustn't  and  won't ;  and  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  tell  Smith 
to  say  I  am  not  at  home  when  either  of  them  calls." 

The  particulars  of  Becky's  costume  were  in  the  newspapers — 
feathers,  lappets,  superb  diamonds,  and  all  the  rest.  Lady  Cracken- 
biu-y  read  the  paragraph  in  bitterness  of  spirit,  and  discoursed  to  her 
followers  about  the  airs  which  that  woman  was  giving  herself.  Mrs. 
Bute  Crawley  and  her  young  ladies  in  the  country  had  a  copy  of  the 
Morning  Post  from  town  ;  and  gave  a  vent  to  their  honest  indigna- 
tion.. "  If  you  had  been  sandy-haired,  green-eyed,  and  a  French 
rojie-dancer's  daughter,"  Mrs.  Bute  said  to  her  eldest  girl  (who,  on 
the  contrary,  was  a  very  swarthy,  short,  and  snub-nosed  young  lady), 
"you  might  have  had  superb  diamonds  forsooth,  and  have  been 
presented  at  Court  by  yom*  cousin,  the  Lady  Jane.  But  you're 
only  a  gentlewoman,  my  poor  dear  child.  You  have  only  some  of 
the  best  blood  in  England  in  your  veins,  and  good  principles  and 
piety  for  your  portion.  I,  myself,  the  wife  of  a  Baronet's  younger 
brother,  too,  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  going  to  Court — nor 
would  other  people,  if  good  Queen  Charlotte  had  been  alive."  In 
this  way  the  worthy  Rectoress  consoled  herself:  and  her  daughters 
sighed,  and  sate  over  the  Peerage  all  night. 

A  few  days  after  the  famous  presentation,  another  great  and 
exceeding  honour  was  vouchsafed  to  the  virtuous  Becky.  Lady 
Steyne's  carriage  drove  up  to  Mr,  Rawdon  Crawley's  door,  and  the 
footman,  instead  of  driving  down  the  front  of  the  house,  as  by  his 
tremendous  knocking  he  appeared  to  be  inclined  to  do,  relented,  and 
only  delivered  in  a  couple  of  cards,  on  which  were  engraven  the 
names  of  the  Marchioness  of  Steyne  and  the  Countess  of  Gaunt.  If 
these  bits  of  pasteboard  had  been  beautiful  pictures,  or  had  had  a 
hundred  yards  of  Malines  lace  rolled  round  them,  worth  twice  the 
number  of  guineas,  Becky  could  not  have  regarded  them  with  more 
pleasure.  You  may  be  sure  they  occupied  a  conspicuous  place  in 
the  china  bowl  on  the  drawing-room  table,  where  Becky  kept  the 
cards  of  her  visitors.  Lord !  lord !  how  poor  Mrs.  Washington 
White's  card  and  Lady  Crackenbury's  card,  which  our  little  friend 
had  been  glad  enough  to  get  a  few  months  back,  and  of  which  the 
silly  little  creatiu-e  was  rather  proud  once — Lord  !  lord !  I  say,  how 
soon  at  the  appearance  of  these  grand  court  cards,  did  those  poor 
10 


( 


468  VANITY    FAIR 

little  neglected  deuces  sink  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  pack.  Steyne ! 
Bareacres  !  Johnes  of  Helvellyn  !  and  Caerlyon  of  Camelot !  we  may 
be  sure  that  Becky  and  Briggs  looked  out  those  august  names  in 
the  Peerage,  and  followed  the  noble  races  up  through  all  the  ramifi- 
cations of  the  family  tree. 

My  Lord  Steyne  coming  to  call  a  couple  of  hours  afterwards, 
and  looking  about  him,  and  observing  everything  as  was  his  wont, 
found  his  ladies'  cards  already  ranged  as  the  trumps  of  Becky's  hand, 
and  grinned,  as  this  old  cynic  always  did  at  any  naive  display  .of-, 
human  weakness.  Becky  came  down  to  him  presently :  whenever 
the  dear  girl  expected  his  Lordship,  her  toilette  was  prepared,  her 
hair  in  perfect  order,  her  mouchoirs,  aprons,  scarfs,  little  morocco 
slippers,  and  other  female  gimcracks  arranged,  and  she  seated  in 
some  artless  and  agreeable  posture  ready  to  receive  him — whenever 
she  was  surprised,  of  course  she  had  to  fly  to  her  apartment  to  take 
a  rapid  survey  of  matters  in  the  glass,  and  to  trip  down  again  to 
wait  upon  the  great  Peer. 

She  found  him  grinning  over  the  bowl.  She  was  discovered, 
and  she  blushed  a  little.  "  Thank  you,  Monseigneur,"  she  said. 
"  You  see  your  ladies  have  been  here.  How  good  of  you !  I 
couldn't  come  before — I  was  in  the  kitchen  making  a  pudding  " 

"I  know  you  were,  I  saw  you  through  the  area-railings  as  I 
drove  up,"  replied  the  old  gentleman. 

"  You  see  everything,"  she  replied. 

"  A  few  things,  but  not  that,  my  pretty  lady,"  he  said  good- 
naturedly.  "  You  silly  little  fibster !  I  heard  you  in  the  room 
overhead,  where  I  have  no  doubt  you  were  putting  a  little  rouge  on ; 
you  must  give  some  of  yours  to  my  Lady  Gaunt,  whose  complexion 
is  quite  preposterous ;  and  I  heard  the  bedroom  door  open,  and 
then  you  came  downstairs." 

"  Is  it  a  crime  to  try  and  look  my  best  when  you  come  here  ? " 
answered  Mrs.  Rawdon  plaintively,  and  she  rubbed  her  cheek  with 
her  handkerchief  as  if  to  show  there  was  no  rouge  at  all,  only 
genuine  blushes  and  modesty  in  her  case.  About  this  who  can  tell  1 
I  know  there  is  some  rouge  that  won't  come  off  on  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief; and  some  so  good  that  even  tears  will  not  disturb  it, 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  twiddling  round  his  wife's  card, 
"  you  are  bent  on  becoming  a  fine  lady.  You  pester  my  poor  old 
life  out  to  get  you  into  the  world.  You  won't  be  able  to  hold  your 
own  there,  you  silly  little  fool.     You've  got  no  money." 

**You  will  get  us  a  place,"  interposed  Becky,   "as  quick  as 


"You've  got  no  money,  and  you  want  to  compete  with  those 
wlio  have.     You  poor  little  eart;henw3,re  pipkin,  you  want  to  swim 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  469 

down  the  stream  along  with  the  great  copper  kettles.  All  women 
are  alike.  Everybody  is  striving  for  what  is  not  worth  the  having ! 
Gad  !  I  dined  with  the  King  yesterday,  and  we  had  neck  of  mutton 
and  turnips.  A  dinner  of  herbs  /is  better  than  a  stalled  ox  very 
often.  You  will  go  to  Gaunt  House.  You  give  an  old  fellow  no 
rest  until  you  get  there.  It's  not  half  so  nice  as  here.  You'll  be 
bored  there.  I  am.  My  wife  is  as  gay  as  Lady  Macbeth,  and  my 
daughters  as  cheerfiil  as  Regan  and  Goneril.  I  daren't  sleep  in  , 
what  they  call  my  bedroom.  The  bed  is  like  the  baldaquin  of  St./ 
Peter's,  and  the  pictures  frighten  me.  I  have  a  little  brass  bed  in 
a  dressing-room :  and  a  little  hair  mattress  like  an  anchorite.  I 
am  an  anchorite.  Ho  !  ho  !  You'll  be  asked  to  dinner  next  week. 
And  gave  aux  femmes,  look  out  and  hold  your  own  !  How  the 
women  will  bully  you ! "  This  wa«  a  very  long  speech  for  a  man 
of  few  words  like  my  Lord  Steyne ;  nor  was  it  the  first  which  he 
uttered  for  Becky's  benefit  on  that  day. 

Briggs  looked  up  from  the  work-table  at  which  she  was  seated 
in  the  farther  room,  and  gave  a  deep  sigh  as  she  heard  the  great 
Marquis  speak  so  lightly  of  her  sex. 

"  If  you  don't  turn  off  that  abominable  sheep-dog,"  said  Lord 
Steyne,  with  a  savage  look  over  his  shoulder  at  her,  "  I  will  have 
her  poisoned." 

"I  always  give  my  dog  dinner  from  my  own  plate,"  sg,id 
Rebecca,  laughing  mischievously ;  and  having  enjoyed  for  some 
time  the  discomfiture  of  my  Lord,  who  hated  poor  Briggs  for  inter- 
rupting his  tete-a-tete  with  the  fair  Colonel's  wife,  Mrs.  Rawdon  at 
length  had  pity  upon  her  admirer,  and  calling  to  Briggs,  praised  the 
fineness  of  the  weather  to  her,  and  bade  her  to  take  out  the  child 
for  a  walk. 

"  I  can't  send  her  away,"  Becky  said  presently,  after  a  pause, 
and  in  a  very  sad  voice.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  spoke, 
and  she  turned  away  her  head. 

"  You  owe  her  her  wages,  I  suppose  1 "  said  the  Peer. 

"  Worse  than  that,"  said  Becky,  still  casting  down  her  eyes ;  "I 
have  ruined  her." 

"  Ruined  her  %  —  then  why  don't  you  turn  her  out  1 "  the 
gentleman  asked. 

"  Men  do  that,"  Becky  answered  bitterly.  "Women  are  not  so 
bad  as  you.  Last  year  when  we  were  reduced  to  our  last  guinea, 
she  gave  us  everything.  She  shall  never  leave  me,  until  we  are 
ruined  utterly  ourselves,  which  does  not  seem  far  off",  or  until  I  can 
pay  her  the  utmost  farthing." 

" it,  how  much  is  it  ? "  said  the  Peer,  with  an  oath.     And 

Becky,  reflecting  on  the  largeness  of  his  means,  mentioned  not  only 


;] 


47©  VANITY    FAIR 

the  sum  which  she  had  borrowed  from  Miss  Briggs,  but  one  of  nearly 
double  the  amount. 

This  caused  the  Lord  Steyne  to  break  out  in  another  brief  and 
energetic  expression  of  anger,  at  which  Rebet;ca  held  down  her  head 
the  more,  and  cried  bitterly.  "  I  could  not  help  it.  It  was  my 
only  chance.  I  dare  not  tell  my  husband.  He  would  kill  me  if 
I  told  him  what  I  have  done.  I  have  kept  it  a  secret  from  every- 
body but  you — and  you  forced  it  from  me.  Ah,  what  shall  I  do, 
Lord  Steyne  ?  for  I  am  very,  very  unhappy  ! " 

Lord  Steyne  made  no  reply  except  by  beating  the  devil's  tattoo, 
and  biting  his  nails.  At  last  he  clapi)e(l  his  hat  on  his  head,  and 
flung  out  of  the  room.  Rebecca  did  not  rise  fiom  her  attitude  of 
misery  until  the  door  slammed  upon  him,  and  his  carriage  whirled 
away.  Then  she  rose  up  with  the  queerest  expression  of  victorious 
mischief  glittering  in  her  green  eyes.  She  burst  out  laughing  once 
or  twice  to  herself,  as  she  sate  at  work :  and  sitting  down  to  the 
piano,  she  rattled  away  a  triumphant  voluntary  on  the  keys,  which 
made  the  people  pause  under  her  window  to  listen  to  her  brilliant 
music. 

That  night  there  came  two  notes  from  Gaunt  House  for  the 
little  woman,  the  one  containing  a  card  of  invitation  from  Lord  and 
Lady  Steyne  to  a  dinner  at  Gaunt  House  next  Friday :  while  the 
otlier  enclosed  a  slip  of  grey  paper  bearing  Lord  Steyne's  signature 
and  the  address  of  Messrs.  Jones,  Brown,  and  Robinson,  Lombard 
Street. 

Rawdon  heard  Becky  laughing  in  the  night  once  or  twice.  It 
was  only  her  delight  at  going  to  Gaunt  House,  and  facing  the  ladies 
there,  she  said,  which  amused  her  so.  But  the  truth  was,  that  she 
was  occupied  with  a  great  number  of  other  thoughts.  Should  she 
pay  off  old  Briggs  and  give  her  her  conge  ?  .  Should  she  astonish 
Raggles  by  settling  his  account  ?  She  turned  over  all  these  thoughts 
on  her  pillow,  and  on  the  next  day,  when  Rawdon  went  out  to  pay 
his  morning  visit  to  the  Club,  Mrs.  Crawley  (in  a  modest  dress 
with  a  veil  on)  whipped  off  in  a  hackney-coach  to  the  City :  and 
being  landed  at  Messrs.  Jones  and  Robinson's  bank,  presented  a 
document  there  to  the  authority  at  the  desk,  who,  in  reply,  asked 
her  "  How  she  would  take  it  ? " 

She  gently  said  "  she  would  take  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  in 
small  notes  and  the  remainder  in  one  note  "  :  and  passing  through 
St.  Paul's  Churchyard  stopped  there  and  bought  the  handsomest 
black  silk  gown  for  Briggs  which  money  could  buy;  and  which, 
with  a  kiss  and  the  kindest  speeches,  she  presented  to  the  simple 
old  spinster. 

Then  she  walked  to  Mr.  Raggles',  inquired  about  his  children 


BECKY    IN    LOMBARD    STREET. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  471 

affectionately,  and  gave  him  fifty  pounds  on  account.  Then  she 
went  to  the  livery-man  from  whom  she  jobbed  her  carriages  and 
gratified  him  with  a  similar  sum.  "And  I  hope  this  will  be  a 
lesson  to  you,  Spavin,"  she  said,  "tfhd  that  on  the  next  Drawing- 
room  day  my  brother.  Sir  Pitt,  will  not  be  inconvenienced  by  being 
obliged  to  take  four  of  us  in  his  carriage  to  wait  upon  his  Majesty, 
because  my  own  carriage  is  not  forthcoming."  It  appears  there  had 
been  a  difference  on  the  last  Drawing-room  day.  Hence  the  degrada- 
tion which  the  Colonel  had  almost  suffered,  of  being  obliged  to  enter 
the  presence  of  his  Sovereign  in  a  hack  cab. 

These  arrangements  concluded,  Becky  paid  a  visit  upstairs  to  the 
before:imeii±iQned-4egk,  which  Amelia  Sedley  had  given  her  years  and 
years  ago,  and  which  contained  a  number  of  useful  and  valuable  little 
things :  in  which  private  museum  she  placed  the  one  note  which 
TSTessrs.  Jones  and  Robinson's  cashier  had  given  her. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

IN  WHICH  WE  ENJOY  THREE  COURSES  AND  A  DESSERT 

WHEN  the  ladies  of  Gaunt  House  were  at  breakfast  that 
morning,  Lord  Steyne  (who  took  his  chocolate  in  private, 
and  seldom  disturbed  the  females  of  his  household,  or 
saw  them  except  upon  public  days,  or  when  they  crossed  each 
other  in  the  hall,  or  when  from  his  pit-box  at  the  Opera  he  sur- 
veyed them  in  their  box  on  the  grand  tier) — his  Lordship,  we  say, 
appeared  among  the  ladies  and  the  children  who  were  assembled  over 
the  tea  and  toast,  and  a  battle  royal  ensued  apropos  of  Rebecca. 

"  My  Lady  Steyne,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  see  the  list  for  your 
dinner  on  Friday ;  and  I  want  you,  if  you  please,  to  write  a  card 
for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Crawley." 

"  Blanche  writes  them,"  Lady  Steyne  said  in  a  flutter.  "  Lady 
Gaunt  writes  them." 

"  I  will  not  write  to  that  person,"  Lady  Gaunt  said,  a  tall  and 
stately  lady,  who  looked  up  for  an  instant  and  then  down  again 
after  she  had  spoken.  It  was  not  good  to  meet  Lord  Steyne's  eyes 
for  those  who  had  offended  him. 

"  Send  the  children  out  of  the  room.  Go  !  "  said  he,  pulling  at 
the  bell-rope.  The  urchins,  always  frightened  before  him,  retired  : 
their  mother  would  have  followed  too.  "Not  you,"  he  said. 
"  You  stop." 

"My  Lady  Steyne,"  he  said,  "once  more  will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  go  to  the  desk,  and  write  that  card  for  your  dinner 
on  Friday  ? " 

"  My  Lord,  I  will  not  be  present  at  it,"  Lady  Gaunt  said ;  "  I 
will  go  home." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  and  stay  there.  You  will  find  the  bailiffs 
at  Bareacres  very  pleasant  company,  and  I  shall  be  freed  from  lend- 
ing money  to  your  relations,  and  from  your  own  damned  tragedy 
airs.  Who  are  you  to  give  orders  here?  You  have  no  money. 
You've  got  no  brains.  You  were  here  to  have  children,  and  you 
have  not  had  any.  Gaunt's  tired  of  you ;  and  George's  wife  is 
the  only  person  in  the  family  who  doesn't  wish  you  were  dead. 
Gaunt  would  marry  again  if  you  were." 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  473 

"  I  wish  I  were/'  her  Ladyship  answered,  with  tears  and  rage 
in  her  eyes. 

"You,  forsooth,  must  give  yourself  airs  of  virtue;  while  my 
wife,  who  is  an  immaculate  saint,  tfs  everybody  knows,  and  never 
did  wrong  in  her  life,  has  no  objection  to  meet  my  young  friend 
Mrs.  Crawley.  My  Lady  Steyne  knows  that  appearances  are 
sometimes  against  the  best  of  women;  that  lies  are  often  told 
about  the  most  innocent  of  them.  Pray,  Madam,  shall  I  tell  you 
some  little  anecdotes  about  my  Lady  Bareacres,  your  mamma  1 " 

"You  may  strike  me  if  you  like,  sir,  or  hit  any  cruel  blow," 
Lady  Gaunt  said.     To  see  his  wife  and  daughter  suffering  always^ 
put  his  Lordship  into  a  good  humour.  -^ 

"My  sweet  Blanche,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  gentleman,  and  never 
lay  my  hand  upon  a  woman,  save  in  the  way  of  kindness.  I  only 
wish  to  correct  little  faults  in  your  character.  You  women  are  too 
proud,  and  sadly  lack  humility,  as  Father  Mole,  I'm  sure,  would 
tell  my  Lady  Steyne  if  he  were  here.  You  mustn't  give  yourselves 
airs  :  you  must  be  meek  and  humble,  my  blessings.  For  all  Lady 
Steyne  knows,  this  calumniated,  simple,  good-humoured  Mrs.  Crawley 
is  quite  innocent — even  more  innocent  than  herself.  Her  husband's 
character  is  not  good,  but  it  is  as  good  as  Bareacres',  who  has  played 
a  little  and  not  paid  a  great  deal,  who  cheated  you  out  of  the  only 
legacy  you  ever  had,  and  left  you  a  pauper  on  my  hands.  And 
Mrs.  Crawley  is  not  very  well  born ;  but  she  is  not  worse  than 
Fanny's  illustrious  ancestor,  the  first  de  la  Jones." 

"  The  money  which  I  brought  into  the  family,  sir,"  Lady  George 
cried  out — 

"You  purchased _a^^ontingent^eversion  vnth  it,"  the  Marquis 
said  darkly.  "  If  Gaunt  dies^  "youFTiusband  may  come  to  his 
honours ;  your  little  boys  may  inherit  them,  and  who  knows  what 
besides  1  In  the  meanwhile,  ladies,  be  as  proud  and  virtuous  as  you 
like  abroad7-but-<ienr't  "give  me  any  airs.  As  for  Mrs.  Crawley's 
cliaractef^l  shan't  demean  myself  or  that  most  spotless  and  perfectly 
irreproachable  lady,  by  even  hinting  that  it  requires  a  defence.  You 
will  be  pleased  to  receive  her  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  as  you  will 
receive  all  persons  whom  I  present  in  this  house.  This  house?" 
He  broke  out  with  a  laugh.  "  Who  is  the  master  of  it  1  and  what 
is  it  ?  This  Temple  of  Virtue  belongs  to  me.  And  if  I  invite  all 
Newgate  or  all  Bedlam  here,  by they  shall  be  welcome." 

After  this  vigorous  allocution,  to  one  of  which  sort  Lord  Steyne 
treated  his  "Hareem"  whenever  symptoms  of  insubordination 
appeared  in  his  household,  the  crestfallen  women  had  nothing  for  it 
but  to  obey.  Lady  Gaunt  wrote  the  invitation  which  his  Lordship 
required,  and  she  and  her  mother-in-law  drove  in  person,  and  with 


474  VANITY    FAIF 

bitter  and  humiliated  hearts,  to  leave  the  cards  on  Mrs.  Rawdon,  the 
reception  of  which  caused  that  innocent  woman  so  much  pleasure. 

There  were  families  in  London  who  would  have  sacrificed  a  year's 
income  to  receive  such  an  honour  at  the  hands  of  those  great  ladies. 
Mrs.  Frederick  Bullock,  for  instance,  would  have  gone  on  her  knees 
from  May  Fair  to  Lombard  Street,  if  Lady  Steyne  and  Lady  Gaunt 
had  been  waiting  in  the  City  to  raise  her  up,  and  say,  "  Come  to  us 
next  Friday," — not  to  one  of  the  great  crushes  and  grand  balls  of 
Gaunt  House,  whither  everybody  went,  but  to  the  sacred,  unap- 
proachable, mysterious,  delicious  entertainments,  to  be  admitted 
to  one  of  which  was  a  privilege,  and  an  honour,  and  a  blessing 
indeed.       /^  ^ 

Severe,vspotless,*  and  beautiful  Lady  Gauntjield  the  very  highest 
rank  in  Vanity  Fair.  The  distinguished  courtesy  with  which  Lord 
Steyne  treated  her,  charmed  everybody  who  witnessed  his  behaviour, 
caused  the  severest  critics  to  admit  how  perfect  a  gentleman  he  was, 
and  to  own  that  his  Lordship's  heart  at  least  was  in  the  right  place. 

The  ladies  of  Gaunt  House  called  Lady  Bareacres  in  to  their 
aid,  in  order  to  repulse  the  common  enemy.  One  of  Lady  Gaunt's 
carriages  went  to  Hill  Street  for  her  Ladyship's  mother,  all  whose 
equipages  were  in  the  hands  of  the  bailiffs,  whose  very  jewels  and 
wardrobe,  it  was  said,  had  been  seized  by  those  inexorable  Israelites. 
Bareacres  Castle  was  theirs,  too,  with  all  its  costly  pictures,  furni- 
ture, and  articles  of  vertu — the  magnificent  Vandykes;  the  noble 
Reynolds  pictures;  the  Lawrence  portraits,  tawdry  and  beautiful, 
and,  thirty  years  ago,  deemed  as  precious  as  works  of  real  genius ; 
the  matchless  Dancing  Nymph  of  Canova,  for  which  Lady  Bareacres 
had  sate  in  her  youth — Lady  Bareacres  splendid  then,  and  radiant 
in  wealth,  rank,  and  beauty — a  toothless,  bald,  old  woman  now — a 
mere  rag  of  a  former  robe  of  state.  Her  lord,  painted  at  the  same 
time  by  Lawrence,  as  waving  his  sabre  in  front  of  Bareacres  Castle, 
and  clothed  in  his  uniform  as  Colonel  of  the  Thistlewood  Yeomanry, 
was  a  withered,  old,  lean  man  in  a  greatcoat  and  a  Brutus  wig : 
slinking  about  Gray's  Inn  of  mornings  chiefly,  and  dining  alone  at 
clubs.  He  did  not  like  to  dine  with  Steyne  now.  They  had  run 
races  of  pleasure  together  in  youth  when  Bareacres  was  the  winner. 
But  Steyne  had  more  bottom  than  he,  and  had  lasted  him  out.  The 
Marquis  was  ten  times  a  greater  man  now  than  the  young  Lord 
Gaunt  of  '85 ;  and  Bareacres  nowhere  in  the  race — old,  beaten, 
bankrupt,  and  broken  down.  He  had  borrowed  too  much  money  of 
Steyne  to  find  it  pleasant  to  meet  his  old  comrade  often.  The  latter, 
whenever  he  wished  to  be  merry,  used  jeeringly  to  ask  Lady  Gaunt, 
why  her  father  had  not  come  to  see  her ?     "He  has  not  been  here 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  475 

for  four  months,"  Lord  Steyne  would  say.  "  I  can  always  tell  by 
my  cheque-book  afterwards,  when  I  get  a  visit  from  Bareacres. 
What  a  comfort  it  is,  my  ladies,  I  bank  with  one  of  my  sons'  fathers- 
in-laWj  and  the  other  banks  with  me/^" 

Of  the  other  illustrious  persons  whom  Becky  had  the  honour 
to  encounter  on  this  her  first  presentation  to  the  grand  world,  it 
does  not  become  the  present  historian  to  say  much.  There  was  his 
Excellency  the  Prince  of  Peterwaradin,  with  his  Princess ;  a  noble- 
man tightly  girthed,  with  a  large  military  chest,  on  which  the 
plaque  of  his  order  shone  magnificently,  and  wearing  the  red  collar 
of  the  Grolden  Fleece  round  his  neck.  He  was  the  owner  of  count- 
less flocks.  "Look  at  his  face.  I  think  he  must  be  descended 
from  a  sheep,"  Becky  whispered  to  Lord  Steyne.  Indeed,  his 
Excellency's  countenance,  long,  solemn,  and  white,  with  the  ornament 
round  his  neck,  bore  some  resemblance  to  that  of  a  venerable  bell- 
wether. 

There  was  Mr.  John  Paul  Jefferson  Jones,  titularly  attached 
to  the  American  Embassy,  and  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Demagogue  J  who,  by  way  of  making  himself  agreeable  to  the 
company,  asked  Lady  Steyne,  during  a  pause  in  the  conversation 
at  dinner,  how  his  dear  friend,  George  Gaunt,  liked  the  Brazils  1 — 
He  and  George  had  been  most  intimate  at  Naples,  and  had  gone  up 
Vesuvius  together.  Mr.  Jones  wrote  a  full  and  particular  account  of 
the  dinner,  which  appeared  duly  in  the  Demagogue.  He  mentioned 
the  names  and  titles  of  all  the  guests,  giving  biographical  sketches 
of  the  principal  people.  He  described  the  persons  of  the  ladies 
with  great  eloquence ;  the  service  of  the  table ;  the  size  and  costume 
of  the  servants ;  enumerated  the  dishes  and  wines  served ;  the  orna- 
ments of  the  sideboard,  and  the  probable  value  of  the  plate.  Such 
a  dinner  he  calculated  could  not  be  dished  up  under  fifteen  or 
eighteen  dollars  per  head.  And  he  was  in  the  habit,  until  very 
lately,  of  sending  over  proteges,  with  letters  of  recommendation  to 
the  present  Marquis  of  Steyne,  encouraged  to  do  so  by  the  intimate 
terms  on  which  he  had  lived  with  his  dear  friend,  the  late  Lord. 
He  was  most  indignant  that  a  young  and  insignificant  aristocrat, 
the  Earl  of  Southdown,  should  have  taken  the  pas  of  him  in  their 
procession  to  the  dining-room.  "  Just  as  I  was  stepping  up  to  offer 
my  hand  to  a  very  pleasing  and  witty  fashionable,  the  brilliant  and 
exclusive  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley," — he  wrote — "  the  young  patrician 
interposed  between  me  and  the  lady,  and  whisked  my  Helen  off 
without  a  word  of  apology.  I  was  fain  to  bring  up  the  rear  with 
the  Colonel,  the  lady's  husband,  a  stout  red-faced  warrior  who 
distinguished  himself  at  Waterloo,  where  he  had  better  luck  than 
befell  some  of  his  brother  red-coats  at  New  Orleans." 


476  VANITY    FAIR 

The  Colonel's  countenance  on  coming  into  this  polite  society 
wore  as  many  blushes  as  the  face  of  a  boy  of  sixteen  assumes  when 
he  is  confronted  with  his  sister's  schoolfellows.  It  has  been  told 
before  that  honest  Rawdon  had  not  been  much  used  at  any  period 
of  his  life  to  ladies'  company.  With  the  men  at  the  Club  or  the 
Mess-room,  he  was  well  enough ;  and  could  ride,  bet,  smoke,  or 
play  at  billiards  with  the  boldest  of  them.  He  had  had  his  time 
for  female  friendships  too :  but  that  was  twenty  years  ago,  and  the 
ladies  were  of  the  rank  of  those  with  whom  Young  Marlow  in  the 
comedy  is  represented  as  having  been  familiar  before  he  became 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Hardcastle.  The  times  are  such 
that  one  scarcely  dares  to  allude  to  that  kind  of  company  which 
thousands  of  our  young  men  in  Vanity  Fair  are  frequenting  every 
day,  which  nightly  fills  casinos  and  dancing-rooms,  which  is  known 
to  exist  as  well  as  the  Ring  in  Hyde  Park  or  the  Congregation  at 
St.  James's — but  which  the  most  squeamish  if  not  the  most  moral 
of  societies  is  determined  to  ignore.  In  a  word,  although  Colonel 
Crawley  was  now  five-and-forty  years  of  age,  it  had  not  been  his 
lot  in  life  to  meet  with  a  half-dozen  good  women,  besides  his  paragon 
of  a  wife.  All  except  her  and  his  kind  sister  Lady  Jane,  whose 
gentle  nature  had  tamed  and  won  him,  scared  the  worthy  Colonel ; 
and  on  occasion  of  his  first  dinner  at  Gaunt  House  he  was  not  heard 
to  make  a  single  remark  except  to  state  that  the  weather  was  very 
hot.  Indeed  Becky  would  have  left  him  at  home,  but  that  virtue 
ordained  that  her  husband  should  be  by  her  side  to  protect  the 
timid  and  fluttering  little  creature  on  her  first  appearance  in  polite 
society. 

On  her  first  appearance  Lord  Steyne  stepped  forward,  taking 
her  hand,  and  greeting  her  with  great  courtesy,  and  presenting  her 
to  Lady  Steyne,  and  their  ladyships,  her  daughters.  Their  lady- 
ships made  three  stately  curtsies,  and  the  elder  lady  to  be  sure  gave 
her  hand  to  the  new  comer,  but  it  was  as  cold  and  lifeless  as  marble, 

Becky  took  it,  however,  with  grateful  humility ;  and  performing 
a  reverence  which  would  have  done  credit  to  the  best  dancing- 
master,  put  herself  at  Lady  Steyne's  feet,  as  it  were,  by  saying  that 
his  Lordship  had  been  her  father's  earliest  friend  and  patron,  and 
that  she,  Becky,  had  learned  to  lionour  and  respect  the  Steyne 
fiimily  from  the  days  of  her  childhood.  The  fact  is,  that  Lord 
Steyne  had  once  purchased  a  couple  of  pictures  of  the  late  Sharp, 
and  the  affectionate  orphan  could  never  forget  her  gratitude  for  that 
favour. 

The  Lady  Bareacres  then  came  under  Becky's  cognisance — to 
whom  the  Colonel's  lady  made  also  a  most  respectful  obeisance :  it 
was  returned  with  severe  dignity  by  the  exalted  person  in  question. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  477 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  Ladyship's  acquaintance  at 
Brussels,  ten  years  ago,"  Becky  said,  in  the  most  winning  manner. 
"  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  Lady  Bareacres,  at  the  Duchess 
of  Richmond's  Ball,  the  night  before  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  And  I 
recollect  your  Ladyship,  and  my  Lady  Blanche,  your  daughter, 
sitting  in  the  carriage  in  the  porte-cochere  at  the  Inn,  waiting  for 
horses.     I  hope  your  Ladyship's  diamonds  are  safe." 

Everybody's  eyes  looked  into  their  neighbour's.  The  famous 
diamonds  had  undergone  a  famous  seizure,  it  appears,  about  which 
Becky,  of  course,  knew  nothing,  Rawdon  Crawley  retreated  with 
Lord  Southdown  into  a  window,  where  the  latter  was  heard  to 
laugh  immoderately,  as  Rawdon  told  him  the  story  of  Lady  Bare- 
acres  wanting  horses,  and  "knuckling  down,  by  Jove,"  to  Mrs. 
Crawley.  "  I  think  I  needn't  be  afraid  of  that  woman,"  Becky 
thought.  Indeed,  Lady  Bareacres  exchanged  terrified  and  angry 
looks  with  her  daughter,  and  retreated  to  a  table,  where  she  began 
to  look  at  pictures  with  great  energy. 

When  the  Potentate  from  the  Danube  made  his  appearance,  the 
conversation  was  carried  on  in  the  French  language,  and  the  Lady 
Bareacres  and  the  younger  ladies  found,  to  their  further  mortifica- 
tion, that  Mrs.  Crawley  was  much  better  acquainted  with  that 
tongue,  and  spoke  it  with  a  much  better  accent  than  they.  Becky 
had  met  other  Hungarian  magnates  with  the  army  in  France  in 
1816-17.  She  asked  after  her  friends  with  great  interest.  The 
foreign  personages  thought  that  she  was  a  lady  of  great  distinction ; 
and  the  Prince  and  the  Princess  asked  severally  of  Lord  Steyne  and 
the  Marchioness,  whom  they  conducted  to  dinner,  who  was  that 
petite  dame  who  spoke  so  well  1 

Finally,  the  procession  being  formed  in  the  order  described  by 
the  American  diplomatist,  they  marched  into  the  apartment  where 
the  banquet  was  served  :  and  which,  as  I  have  promised  the  reader 
he  shall  enjoy  it,  he  shall  have  the  liberty  of  ordering  himself  so  as 
to  suit  his  fancy. 

But  it  was  when  the  ladies  were  alone  that  Becky  l^new  the  tug 
of  war  would  come.  And  then  indeed  the  little  woman  found  her- 
self in  such  a  situation,  as  made  her  acknowledge  the  correctness  of 
Lord  Steyne's  caution  to  her  to  beware  of  the  society  of  ladies  above 
her  own  sphere.  As  they  say  the  persons  who  hate  Irishmen  most 
are  Irishmen :  so,  assuredly,  tlie  greatest  tyrants  over  women  are 
women.  When  poor  little  Becky,  alone  with  the  ladies,  went  up 
to  the  fireplace  whither  the  great  ladies  had  repaired,  the  great 
ladies  marched  away  and  took  possession  of  a  table  of  drawings. 
When  Becky  followed  them  to  the  table  of  drawings,  they  dropped 
ofi"  one  by  one  to  the  fire  again.     She  tried  to  speak  to  one  of  the 


(^ 


478  VANITY   FAIR 

children  (of  whom  she  was  commonly  fond  in  public  places),  but 
Master  George  Gaunt  was  called  away  by  his  mamma;  and  the 
stranger  was  treated  with  such  cruelty  finally,  that  even  Lady 
Steyne  herself  pitied  her,  and  went  up  to  speak  to  the  friendless 
little  woman. 

"  Lord  Steyne,"  said  her  Ladyship,  as  her  wan  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  blush,  "  says  you  sing  and  play  very  beautifully,  Mrs.  Crawley 
— I  wish  you  would  do  me  the  kindness  to  sing  to  me." 

"  I  will  do  anything  that  may  give  pleasure  to  my  Lord  Steyne 
01  to  you,"  said  Rebecca,  sincerely;^ ^uteful,  and  seating  herself  at 
the  piano,  began  to  sing. 

She  sang  religious  songs  of  Mozart,  which  had  been  early 
favourites  of  Lady  Steyne,  and  with  such  sweetness  and  tenderness 
that  the  lady,  lingering  round  the  piano,  sate  down  by  its  side,  and 
listened  until  the  tears  rolled  down  her  eyes.  It  is  true  that  the 
opposition  ladies  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  kept  up  a  loud  and 
ceaseless  buzzing  and  talking :  but  the  Lady  Steyne  did  not  hear 
those  rumours.  She  was  a  child  again — and  had  wandered  back 
through  a  forty  years'  wilderness  to  her  Convent  Garden.  The 
chapel  organ  had  pealed  the  same  tones,  the  organist,  the  sister  whom 
she  loved  best  of  the  community,  had  taught  them  to  her  in  those 
early  happy  days.  She  was  a  girl  once  more,  and  the  brief  period 
of  her  happiness  bloomed  out  again  for  an  hour — she  started  when 
the  jarring  doors  were  flung  open,  and  with  a  loud  laugh  from  Lord 
Steyne,  the  men  of  the  party  entered  full  of  gaiety. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  what  had  happened  in  his  absence :  and  was 
grateftil  to  his  wife  for  once.  He  went  and  spoke  to  her,  and  called 
her  by  her  Christian  name,  so  as  again  to  bring  blushes  to  her  pale 
face — "  My  wife  says  you  have  been  singing  like  an  angel,"  he  said 
to  Becky.  Now  there  are  angels  of  two_kinds,_aM3oti^^ 
said^are  charming  in  their  way. 

Whatever  the  previous  portion  of  the  evening  had  been,  the  rest 
of  that  night  was  a  great  triumph  for  Becky.  She  sang  her  very 
best,  and  it  was  so  good  that  every  one  of  the  men  came  and  crowded 
round  the  piano.  The  women,  her  enemies,  were  left  quite  alone. 
And  Mr.  Paul  Jefferson  Jones  thought  he  had  made  a  conquest  of 
Lady  Gaunt  by  going  up  to  her  Ladyship,  and  praising  her  delight- 
ful friend's  first-rate  singing. 


CHAPTER  L 

CONTAINS   A    VULGAR   INCIDENT 

THE  Muse,  whoever  she  be,  who  presides  over  this  Comic 
History,  must  now  descend  from  the  genteel  heights  in  which 
she  has  been  soaring,  and  have  the  goodness  to  drop  down 
upon  the  lowly  roof  of  John  Sedley  at  Brompton,  and  describe  what 
events  are  taking  place  there.  Here,  too,  in  this  humble  tenement, 
live  c^ej_and-..distrustj^nd  dismay.  Mrs.  Clapp  in  the  kitchen  is 
grumQingin  secret  to  heF husband  about  the  rent,  and  urging  the 
good  fellow  to  rebel  against  his  old  friend  and  patron  and  his  present 
lodger.  Mrs,  Sedley  has  ceased  to  visit  her  landlady  in  the  lower  . 
regions  now^  and  indeed  is  in  a  position  to  patronise  Mrs.  Clapp  no  | 
longer.  How  can  one  be  condescending  to  a  lady  to  whom  one  owes 
a  matter  of  forty  pounds,  and  who  is  perpetually  throwing  out  hints 
for  the  money  ^  The  Irish  maidservant  has  not  altered  in  the  least 
in  her  kind  and  respectful  behaviour ;  but  Mrs.  Sedley  fancies  that 
she  is  growing  insolent  and  ungrateful,  and,  as  the  guilty  thief  who 
fears  each  bush  an  ofl&cer,  sees  threatening  innuendoes  and  hints  of 
captiu-e  in  all  the  girl's  speeches  and  answers.  Miss  Clapp,  grown 
quite  a  young  woman  now,  is  declared  by  the  soured  old  lady  to  be 
an  unbearable  and  impudent  little  minx.  Why  Amelia  can  be  so 
fond  of  her,  or  have  her  in  her  room  so  much,  or  walk  out  with  her 
so  constantly,  Mrs.  Sedley  cannot  conceive.  The  bitterness  ofl^w 
poverty  has  poisoned  the  life  of  the  once  cheerful  and  kindly  woman.  J  X 
She  is  thankless  for  Amelia's  constant  and  gentle  bearing  towards 
her ;  carps  at  her  for  her  efforts  at  kindness  or  service  :  rails  at  her 
for  her  silly  pride  in  her  child,  and  her  neglect  of  her  parents. 
Georgy's  house  is  not  a  very  lively  one  since  uncle  Jos's  annuity  has 
been  withdrawn,  and  the  little  family  are  almost  upon  famine  diet. 

Amelia  thinks,  and  thinks,  and  racks  her  brain,  to  find  some 
means  of  increasing  the  small  pittance  upon  which  the  household  is 
starving.  Can  she  give  lessons  in  anything  *?  paint  card-racks  ?  do 
fine  work  ?  She  finds  that  women  are  working  hard,  and  better 
than  she  can,  for  twopence  a  day.  She  buys  a  couple  of  begilt 
Bristol  boards  at  the  Fancy  Stationers,  and  paints  her  very  bes 
upon  them — a  shepherd  with  a  red  waistcoat  on  one,  and  a  pink 


A 


482  VANITY    FAIR 

"  0  papa !  it  is  not  that,"  Amelia  cried  out,  falling  on  his  neckj 
and  kissing  him  many  times.  "You  are  always  good  and  kind. 
You  did  it  for  the  best.  It  is  not  for  the  money — it  is — 0  my 
God !  my  God  !  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  give  me  strength  to  bear 
this  trial ; "  and  she  kissed  him  again  wildly,  and  went  away. 

Still  the  father  did  not  know  what  that  explanation  meant,  and 
the  burst  of  anguish  with  which  the  poor  girl  left  him.  It  was 
that  she  was  conquered.  The  sentence  was  passed.  The  child 
must  go  from  her — to  others — to  forget  her.  Her  heart  and  her 
treasure — her  joy,  hope,  love,  worship — her  God,  almost !  She 
must  give  him  up ;  and  then — and  then  she  would  go  to  George : 
and  they  would  watch  over  the  child,  and  wait  for  him  until  he 
came  to  them  in  Heaven. 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  and  went 
out  to  walk  in  the  lanes  by  which  George  used  to  come  back  from 
school,  and  where  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  on  his  return  to 
meet  the  boy.  It  was  May,  a  half-holiday.  The  leaves  were  all 
coming  out,  the  weather  was  brilliant :  the  boy  came  running  to 
her  flushed  with  health,  singing,  his  bundle  of  school-books  hanging 
by  a  thong.  There  he  was.  Both  her  arms  were  round  him.  No, 
it  was  impossible.  They  could  not  be  going  to  part.  "  What  is 
the  matter,  mother  1 "  said  he ;  "  you  look  very  pale." 

"  Nothing,  my  child,"  she  said,  and  stooped  down  and  kissed 
him. 

That  night  Amelia  made  the  boy  read  the  story  of  Samuel  to 
her,  and  how  Hannah,  his  mother,  having  weaned  him,  brought 
him  to  Eli  the  High  Priest  to  minister  before  the  Lord.  And  he 
read  the  song  of  gratitude  which  Hannah  sang :  and  which  says, 
who  it  is  who  maketh  poor  and  maketh  rich,  and  bringeth  low  and 
exalteth— how  the  poor  shall  be  raised  up  out  of  the  dust,  and 
how,  in  his  own  might,  no  man  shall  be  strong.  Then  he  read  how 
Samuel's  mother  made  him  a  little  coat,  and  brought  it  to  him  from 
year  to  year  when  she  came  up  to  off'er  the  yearly  sacrifice.  And 
then,  in  her  sweet  simple  way,  George's  mother  made  commentaries 
to  the  boy  upon  this  affecting  story.  How  Hannah,  though  she 
loved  her  son  so  much,  yet  gave  him  up  because  of  her  vow.  Ana 
how  she  must  always  have  thought  of  him  as  she  sat  at  home,  far 
away,  making  the  little  coat;  and  Samuel,  she  was  sure,  never 
forgot  his  mother ;  and  how  happy  she  must  have  been  as  the  time 
came  (and  the  years  pass  away  very  quick)  when  she  should  see  her 
boy,  and  how  good  and  wise  he  had  grown.  This  little  sermon  she 
spoke  with  a  gentle  solemn  voice,  and  dry  eyes,  until  she  came  to 
the  account  of  their  meeting — then  the  discourse  broke  off"  suddenly, 
the  tender  heart  overflowed,  and  taking  the  boy  to  her  breast,  she 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  4S1 

The  combat,  which  we  describe  in  a  sentence  or  two,  lasted  for 
many  weeks  in  poor  Amelia's  heart :  during  which  she  had  no  con- 
fidante ;  indeed,  she  could  never  have  one :  as  she  would  not  allow 
to  herself  the  possibility  of  yielding :  though  she  was  giving  way 
daily  before  the  enemy  with  whom  she  had  to  battle.  One  truth 
after  another  was  marshalling  itself  silently  against  her,  and  keeping 
its  ground.  Poverty  and  misery  for  all,  want  and  degradation  for 
her  parents,  injustice  to  the  boy — one  by  one  the  outworks  of  the 
little  citadel  were  taken,  in  which  the  poor  soul  passionately  guarded 
her  only  love  and  treasure. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  struggle,  she  had  written  off  a  letter  of 
tender  supplication  to  her  brother  at  Calcutta,  imploring  him  not  to 
withdraw  the  support  which  he  had  granted  to  their  parents,  and 
painting  in  terms  of  artless  pathos  their  lonely  and  hapless  condi- 
tioiL  She  did  not  know  the  truth  of  the  matter.  The  payment 
of  Jos's  annuity  was  still  regular  :  but  it  was  a  money-lender  in  the 
City  who  was  receiving  it:  old  Sedley  had  sold  it  for  a  sum  of 
money  wherewith  to  prosecute  his  bootless  schemes.  Emmy  was 
calculating  eagerly  the  time  that  would  elapse  before  the  letter 
would  arrive  and  be  answered.  She  had  written  down  the  date 
in  her  pocket-book  of  the  day  when  she  despatched  it.  To  her 
son's  guardian,  the  good  Major  at  Madras,  she  had  not  communi- 
cated any  of  her  griefs  and  perplexities.  She  had  not  written 
to  him  since  she  wrote  to  congratulate  him  on  his  approaching 
marriage.  She  thought  with  sickening  despondency,  that  that 
friend, — the  only  one,  the  one  who  had  felt  such  a  regard  for  her, 
— was  fallen  away. 

One  day,  when  things  had  come  to  a  very  bad  pass — when  the 
creditors  were  pressing,  the  mother  in  hysteric  grief,  the  father  in 
more  than  usual  gloom,  the  inmates  of  the  family  avoiding  each 
other,  each  secretly  oppressed  with  his  private  unhappiness  and 
notion  of  wrong — the  father  and  daughter  happened  to  be  left  alone 
together ;  and  Amelia  thought  to  comfort  her  father,  by  telling  him 
what  she  had  done.  She  had  written  to  Joseph — an  answer  must 
come  in  three  or  four  months.  He  was  always  generous,  though 
careless.  He  could  not  refuse,  when  he  knew  how  straitened  were 
the  circumstances  of  his  parents. 

Then  the  poor  old  gentleman  revealed  the  whole  truth  to  her — 
that  his  son  was  still  paying  the  annuity,  which  his  own  imprudence 
had  flung  away.  He  had  not  dared  to  tell  it  sooner.  He  thought 
Amelia's  ghastly  and  terrified  look,  when,  with  a  trembling,  miserable 
voice  he  made  the  confession,  conveyed  reproaches  to  him  for  his 
concealment.  "  Ah  ! "  said  he,  with  quivering  lips  and  turning  away, 
"  you  despise  your  old  father  now  1 " 

V* 


^ 


482  VANITY    FAIB 

"  0  papa !  it  is  not  that,"  Amelia  cried  out,  falling  on  his  neck, 
and  kissing  him  many  times.  "You  are  always  good  and  kind. 
You  did  it  for  the  best.  It  is  not  for  the  money — it  is — 0  my 
God  !  my  God  1  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  give  me  strength  to  bear 
this  trial ; "  and  she  kissed  him  again  wildly,  and  went  away. 

Still  the  father  did  not  know  what  that  explanation  meant,  and 
the  burst  of  anguish  with  which  the  poor  girl  left  him.  It  was 
that  she  was  conquered.  The  sentence  was  passed.  The  child 
must  go  from  her — to  others — to  forget  her.  Her  heart  and  her 
treasure — her  joy,  hope,  love,  worship — her  God,  almost !  She 
must  give  him  up  ;  and  then — and  then  she  would  go  to  George  : 
and  they  would  watch  over  the  child,  and  wait  for  him  until  he 
came  to  them  in  Heaven. 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  and  went 
out  to  walk  in  the  lanes  by  which  George  used  to  come  back  from 
school,  and  where  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  on  his  return  to 
meet  the  boy.  It  was  May,  a  half-holiday.  The  leaves  were  all 
coming  out,  the  weather  was  brilliant :  the  boy  came  running  to 
her  flushed  with  health,  singing,  his  bundle  of  school-books  hanging 
by  a  thong.  There  he  was.  Both  her  arms  were  round  him.  No, 
it  was  impossible.  They  could  not  be  going  to  part.  "  What  is 
the  matter,  mother  1 "  said  he ;  "  you  look  very  pale." 

"  Nothing,  my  child,"  she  said,  and  stooped  down  and  kissed 
him. 

That  night  Amelia  made  the  boy  read  the  story  of  Samuel  to 
her,  and  how  Hannah,  his  mother,  having  weaned  him,  brought 
him  to  Eli  the  High  Priest  to  minister  before  the  Lord.  And  he 
read  the  song  of  gratitude  which  Hannah  sang :  and  which  says, 
who  it  is  who  maketh  poor  and  maketh  rich,  and  bringeth  low  and 
exalteth — how  the  poor  shall  be  raised  up  out  of  the  dust,  and 
how,  in  his  own  might,  no  man  shall  be  strong.  Then  he  read  how 
Samuel's  mother  made  him  a  little  coat,  and  brought  it  to  him  from 
year  to  year  when  she  came  up  to  offer  the  yearly  sacrifice.  And 
then,  in  her  sweet  simple  way,  George's  mother  made  commentaries 
to  the  boy  upon  this  affecting  story.  How  Hannah,  though  she 
loved  her  son  so  much,  yet  gave  him  up  because  of  her  vow.  Ana 
how  she  must  always  have  thought  of  him  as  she  sat  at  home,  far 
away,  making  the  little  coat ;  and  Samuel,  she  was  sure,  never 
forgot  his  mother ;  and  how  happy  she  must  have  been  as  the  time 
came  (and  the  years  pass  away  very  quick)  when  she  should  see  her 
boy,  and  how  good  and  wise  he  had  grown.  This  little  sermon  she 
spoke  with  a  gentle  solemn  voice,  and  dry  eyes,  until  she  came  to 
the  account  of  their  meeting — then  the  discourse  broke  off"  suddenly, 
the  tender  heart  overflowed,  and  taking  the  boy  to  her  breast,  she 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  483 

rocked  him  in  her  arms,  and  wept  silently  over  him  in  a  sainted 
agony  of  tears. 

Her  mind  being  made  up,  th^  widow  began  to  take  such 
measures  as  seemed  right  to  her  for  advancing  the  end  which  she 
proposed  One  day,  Miss  Osborne,  in  Russell  Square  (Amelia  had 
not  written  the  name  or  number  of  the  house  for  ten  years — her 
youth,  her  early  story  came  back  to  her  as  she  wrote  the  super- 
scription)— one  day  Miss  Osborne  got  a  letter  from  Amelia  which 
made  her  blush  very  much  and  look  towards  her  father,  sitting 
glooming  in  his  place  at  the  other  end  of  the  table^ 

In  simple  terms,  Amelia  told  her  the  reasons  which  had  induced 
her  to  change  her  mind  respecting  her  boy.  Her  father  had  met 
with  fresh  misfortunes  which  had  entirely  ruined  him.  Her  own 
pittance  was  so  small  that  it  would  barely  enable  her  to  support 
her  parents,  and  would  not  suffice  to  give  George  the  advantages 
which  were  his  due.  Great  as  her  sufferings  would  be  at  parting 
with  him  she  would,  by  God's  help,  endure  them  for  the  boy's  sake. 
She  knew  that  those  to  whom  he  was  going  would  do  all  in  their 
power  to  make  him  happy.  She  described  his  disposition,  such  as 
she  fancied  it :  quick  and  impatient  of  control  or  harshness ;  easily 
to  be  moved  by  love  and  kindness.  In  a  postscript,  she  stipulated 
that  she  should  have  a  written  agreement,  that  she  should  see  the 
child  as  often  as  she  wished, — she  could  not  part  with  him  under 
any  other  terms. 

"  What  ?  Mrs.  Pride  has  come  down,  nas  she  ? "  old  Osborne  said, 
when  with  a  tremulous  eager  voice  Miss  Osborne  read  him  the  letter 
— "  Reg'lar  starved  out,  hey  1  ha,  ha  !  I  i^new  she  would."  He  tried 
to  keep  his  dignity  and  to  read  his  paper  as  usual — but  he  could  not 
follow  it.     He  chuckled  and  swore  to  himself  behind  the  sheet. 

At  last  he  flung  it  down  :  and  scowling  at  his  daughter,  as  his 
wont  was,  went  out  of  the  room  into  his  study  adjoining,  from  whence 
he  presently  returned  with  a  key.     He  flung  it  to  Miss  Osborne. 

"  Get  the  room  over  mine— his  room  that  was — ready,"  he  said.\ 

"  Yes,  sir,"  his  daughter  replied  in  a  tremble.     It  was  George's   \ 
room.     It  had  not  been  opened  for  more  than  ten  years.     Some  of    \ 
his  clothes,  papers,  handkerchiefs,  whips  and  caps,  fishing-rods  and      V. 
sporting  gear,  were  still  there.     An  army  list  of  1814,  with  his     f 
name  written  on  the  cover ;  a  little  dictionary  he  was  wont  to  use     \ 
in  writing ;  and  the  Bible  his  mother  had  given  him,  were  on  the      \ 
mantelpiece ;  with  a  pair  of  spurs,  and  a  dried  inkstand  covered  with        \ 
the  dust  of  ten  years.     Ah  !  since  that  ink  was  wet,  what  days  and        J 
people  had  passed  away  !     The  writing-book  still  on  the  table  was    y 
blotted  with  his  hand.  .*/ 

11 


1 


484  VANITY   FAIR 

Miss  Osborne  was  much  affected  when  she  first  entered  this 
room  with  the  servants  under  her.  She  sank  quite  pale  on  the 
httle  bed.  "  This  is  blessed  news,  mam — indeed,  mam,"  the  house- 
keeper said ;  "  and  the  good  old  times  is  returning,  mam.  The 
dear  little  feller,  to  be  sure,  mam ;  how  happy  he  will  be !  But 
some  folks  in  May  Fair,  mam,  will  owe  him  a  grudge,  mam ; "  and 
she  chcked  back  the  bolt  which  held  the  window-sash,  and  let  the 
air  into  the  chamber. 

"  You  had  better  send  that  woman  some  money,"  Mr.  Osborne 
said,  before  he  went  out.  "  She  shan't  want  for  nothing.  Send  her 
a  hundred  pound." 

"  And  I'll  go  and  see  her  to-morrow  1 "  Miss  Osborne  asked. 

"  That's  your  look-out.      She  don't  come  in  here,  mind.     No, 

by ,  not  for  all  the  money  in  London.    But  she  mustn't  want  now. 

So  look  out,  and  get  things  right."  With  which  brief  speeches  Mr. 
Osborne  took  leave  of  his  daughter,  and  went  on  his  accustomed  way 
into  the  City. 

"Here,  papa,  is  some  money,"  Amelia  said  that  night,  kissing 
the  old  man,  her  father,  and  putting  a  bill  for  a  hundred  pounds 
into  his  hands.  "  And — and,  mamma,  don't  be  harsh  with  Georgy 
He — he  is  not  going  to  stop  with  us  long."  She  could  say  nothing 
more,  and  walked  away  silently  to  her  room.  Let  us  close  it  upon 
her  prayers  and  her  sorrow.  I  think  we  had  best  speak  little  about 
so  much  love  and  grief. 

Miss  Osborne  came  the  next  day,  according  to  the  promise  con 
tained  in  her  note,  and  saw  Amelia.  The  meeting  between  them 
was  friendly.  A  look  and  a  few  words  from  Miss  Osborne  showed 
the  poor  widow  that,  with  .egard  to  this  woman  at  least,  there  need 
be  no  fear  lest  she  should  take  the  first  place  in  her  son's  affection 
She  was  cold,  sensible,  not  unkind.  The  mother  had  not  been  so 
well  pleased,  perhaps,  had  the  rival  been  better  looking,  younger, 
more  affectionate,  warmer-hearted.  Miss  Osborne,  on  the  other  hand, 
thought  of  old  times  and  memories,  and  could  not  but  be  touched 
with  the  poor  mother's  pitiful  situation.  She  was  conquered,  and  lay- 
ing down  her  arms,  as  it  were,  she  humbly  submitted.  That  day  they 
arranged  together  the  preliminaries  of  the  treaty  of  capitulation. 

George  was  kept  from  school  the  next  day,  and  saw  his  aunt. 
Amelia  left  them  alone  together,  and  went  to  her  room.  She  was 
trying  the  separation : — as  that  poor  gentle  Lady  Jane  Grey  felt 
the  edge  of  the  axe  that  was  to  come  down  and  sever  her  slender 
life.  Days  were  passed  in  parleys,  visits,  preparations.  The  widow 
broke  the  matter  to  Georgy  with  great  caution  ;  she  looked  to  see 
him  very  much  aflfected  by  the  intelligence.  He  was  rather  elated 
than  otherwise,  and   the   poor  woman   turned   sadly  away.      He 


^ 


<3B0RGY   GOES  TO   CHURCH  GENTEEJ.LY. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  485 

bragged  about  the  news  that  day  to  the  boys  at  school ;  told  them 
how  he  was  going  to  live  with  his  grandpapa  his  father's  father,  not 
the  one  who  comes  here  sometimes ;  and  that  he  would  be  very 
rich,  and  have  a  carriage,  and  a  pon/,  and  go  to  a  much  finer  school, 
and  when  he  was  rich  he  would  buy  Leader's  pencil-case,  and  pay 
the  tart-woman.  The  boy  was  the  image  of  his  father,  as  his  fond 
mother  thought. 

Indeed  I  have  no  heart,  on  account  of  our  dear  Amelia's  sake, 
to  go  through  the  story  of  George's  last  days  at  home. 

At  last  the  day  came,  the  carriage  drove  up,  the  little  humble 
packets  containing  tokens  of  love  and  remembrance  were  ready  and 
disposed  in  the  hall  long  since— George  was  in  his  new  suit,  for 
which  the  tailor  had  come  previously  to  measure  him.  He  had 
sprung  up  with  the  sun  and  put  on  the  new  clothes  ;  his  mother 
hearing  him  from  the  room  close  by,  in  which  she  had  been  lying, 
in  speechless  grief  and  watching.  Days  before  she  had  been  making 
preparations  for  the  end  ;  purchasing  little  stores  for  the  boy's  use ; 
marking  his  books  and  linen  ;  talking  with  him  and  preparing  him 
for  the  change — fondly  fancying  that  he  needed  preparation. 

So  that  heJiaddiailge,_wli^at_.car£d.J^ 
By  aTthousand  eager  declarations  as  to  what  he  would  do,  when  he 
went  to  live  with  his  grandfather,  he  had  shown  the  poor  widow 
how  little  the  idea  of  parting  had  cast-4iifn-down;-     "He  would 
come  and  see  his  mamma  often  on  the  pony,"  he  said  :  "he  would         • 
come  and  fetch  her  in  the  carriage ,  they  would  drive  in  the  Park, 
and  she  should  have  everything  she  wanted."     The  poor  mother 
was  fain  to  content  herself  with   these  selfish  demonstrations  of 
attachment,  and  tried  to  convince  herself  how  sincerely  her  son 
loved  her.      He   must  love   her.     All  children  were  so :  a  little 
anxious  for  novelty,  and — no,   not   selfish,   but  self-willed.      Her  | 
child  must  have  his  enjoyments  and  ambition  in  the  worU.     She   r 
herself,  by  her  own  selfishness  and  imprudent  love  for  him,  had    \ 
denied  him  his  just  rights  and  pleasures  hitherto. 

I  know  few  things  more  aff'ecting  than  that  timorous  debase-  ^^^  ^^\ 
ment  and  self-humiliation  of  a  womaih.     How  she  owns  that  it  is'i^v^iii^ 
she  and  not  the  man  who  is  guilty :  how  she  takes  all  the  faults  on   "^ 
her  side :  how  she  courts  in  a  manner  punishment  for  the  wrongs 
which  she  has  not  committed,  and  persists  in  shielding  the  real 
culprit !     It  is  those  who  injure  women  who  get  the  most  kindness 
from  them — they  are  bom  timid  and  tyrants,  and  maltreat  those 
who  are  humblest  before  them. 

So  poor  Amelia  had  been  getting  ready  in  silent  misery  for  her 
son's  departure,  and  had  passed  many  and  many  a  long  solitary 
hour  in  making  preparations  for  the  end.     George  stood  by  his 


( 


I 


486  VANITY    FAIR 

mother,  watching  her  arrangements  without  the  least  concern 
Tears  had  fallen  into  his  boxes;  passages  had  been  scored  in  his 
favourite  books;  old  toys,  relics,  treasures  had  been  hoarded  away 
for  him,  and  packed  with  strange  neatness  and  care, — and  of  all 
these  things  the  boy  took  no  note.  The  child  goes  away  smiling  as 
the  mother  breaks  her  heart.  By  heavens  it  is  pitiful,  the  bootless 
love  of  women  for  children  in  Vanity  Fair. 

A  few  days  are  past :  and  the  great  event  of  Amelia's  life  is 
consummated.  No  angel  has  intervened.  The  child  is  sacrificed 
and  offered  up  to  fate  ;  and  the  widow  is  quite  alone. 

The  boy  comes  to  see  her  often,  to  be  sure.  He  rides  on  a  pony 
vnth  a  coachman  behind  him,  to  the  delight  of  his  old  grandfather, 
Sedley,  who  walks  proudly  down  the  lane  by  his  side.  She  sees 
him,  but  he  is  not  her  boy  any  more.  Why,  he  rides  to  see  the 
boys  at  the  little  school,  too,  and  to  show  off  before  them  his  new 
wealth  and  splendour.  In  two  days  he  has  adopted  a  slightly  im- 
perious air  and  patronising  manner.  He  was  bom  to  command, 
his  mother  thinks,  as  his  father  was  before  him. 

It  is  fine  weather  now.  Of  evenings  on  the  days  when  he  does 
not  come,  she  takes  a  long  walk  into  London — yes,  as  far  as  Russell 
Square,  and  rests  on  the  stone  by  the  railing  of  the  garden  opposite 
Mr.  Osborne's  house.  It  is  so  pleasant  and  cool.  She  can  look  up 
and  see  the  drawing-room  windows  illuminated,  and,  at  about  nine 
o'clock,  the  chamber  in  the  upper  storey  where  Georgy  sleeps.  She 
knows — He  has  told  her.  She  prays  there  as  the  light  goes  out, 
prays  with  an  humble  humble  heart,  and  walks  home  shrinking 
and  silent.  She  is  very  tired  when  she  comes  home.  Perhaps  she 
will  sleep  the  better  for  that  long  weary  walk  ;  and  she  may  dream 
about  Georgy. 

One  Sunday  she  happened  to  be  walking  in  Russell  Square,  at 
some  distance  from  Mr.  Osborne's  house  (she  could  see  it  from  a 
distance  though)  when  all  the  bells  of  Sabbath  were  ringing,  and 
George  and  his  aunt  came  out  to  go  to  church ;  a  little  sweep  asked 
for  charity,  and  the  footman,  who  carried  the  books,  tried  to  drive 
him  away ;  but  Georgy  stopped  and  gave  him  money.  May  God's 
blessing  be  on  the  boy  !  Emmy  ran  round  the  square,  and  coming 
up  to  the  sweep,  gave  him  her  mite  too.  All  the  bells  of  Sabbath 
were  ringing,  and  she  followed  them  until  she  came  to  the  FoundUng 
Church,  into  which  she  went.  There  she  sat  in  a  place  whence  she 
could  see  the  head  of  the  boy  under  his  father's  tombstone.  Many 
hundred  fresh  children's  voices  rose  up  there  and  sang  hymns  to  the 
Father  Beneficent ;  and  little  George's  soul  thrilled  with  delight  at 
the  burst  of  glorious  psalmody.  His  mother  could  not  see  him  for 
a  while,  through  the  mist  that  dimmed  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  LI 

IN  WHICH  A  CHARADE  IS  ACTED  WHICH  MAY  OR  MAY  NOT 
PUZZLE   THE  READER 

AFTER  Becky's  appearance  at  my  Lord  Steyne's  private  and 
select  parties,  the  claims  of  that  estimable  woman  as  regards 
'   fashion  were  settled;  and  some  of  the  very  greatest  and  tallest 
doors  in  the  metropolis  were  speedily  opened  to  her — doors  so  great 
and  tall  that  the  beloved  reader  and  writer  hereof  may  hope  in  vain 
to  enter  at  them.     Dear  brethren,  let  us  tremble  before  those  august 
portals.     I  fancy  them  guarded  by  grooms  of  the  chamber  with 
flaming  silver  forks  with  which  they  prong  all  those  who  have  not 
the  right  of  the  entree.     They  say  the  honest  newspaper-fellow  who 
sits  in  the  hall,  and  takes  down  the  names  of  the  great  ones  who  are 
admitted  to  the  feasts,  dies  after  a  little  time.     He  can't  survive  the 
glare  of  fashion  long.     It  scorches  him  up,  as  the  presence  of  Jupiter 
in  full  dress  wasted  that  poor  imprudent  Semele — a  giddy  moth  of 
a  creature  who  ruined  herself  by  venturing  out  of  her  natural  atmo- 
sphere.    Her  myth  ought  to  be  taken  to  heart  amongst  the  Tybur- 
nians,  the  Belgravians, — her  story,  and  perhaps  Becky's  too.     Ah,  , 
ladies  ! — ask  the  Reverend  Mr.  Thurifer  if  Belgravia  is  not  a  sound-  / 
ing  brass,  and  Tybumia  a  tinkling  cymbal.     These  are  vanities,  f 
Even  these  will  pass  away.     And  some  day  or  other  (but  it  will "] 
be  after  our  time,  thank  goodness),  Hyde  Park  Gardens  will  be  no  / 
better  known  than  the  celebrated  horticultural  outskirts  of  Babylon ;  / 
and  Belgrave  Square  will  be  as  desolate  as  Baker  Street,  or  Tadmor/ 
in  the  wilderness. 

Ladies,  are  you  aware  that  the  great  Pitt  lived  in  Baker  Street? 
What  would  not  your  grandmothers  have  given  to  be  asked  to  Lady 
Hester's  parties  in  that  now  decayed  mansion  1  I  have  dined  in  it 
— moi  qui  vous  park.  I  peopled  the  chamber  with  ghosts  of  the 
mighty  dead.  As  we  sate  soberly  drinking  claret  there  with  men 
of  to-day,  the  spirits  of  the  departed  came  in  and  took  their  places 
round  the  darksome  board.  The  pilot  who  weathered  the  storm 
tossed  off  great  bumpers  of  spiritual  port :  the  shade  of  Dundas 
did  not  leave  the  ghost  of  a  heeltap. — Addington  sate  bowing  and 
smirking  in  a  ghastly  manner,  and  would  not  be  behindhand  when 


488  VANITY    FAIR 

the  noiseless  bottle  went  round  ;  Scott,  from  under  bushy  eyebrows, 
winked  at  the  apparition  of  a  beeswing ;  Wilberforce's  eyes  went  up 
to  the  ceiling,  so  that  he  did  not  seem  to  know  how  his  glass  went 
up  full  to  his  mouth  and  came  down  empty ; — up  to  the  ceiling 
which  was  above  us  only  yesterday,  and  which  the  great  of  the  past 
days  have  all  looked  at.  They  let  the  house  as  a  furnished  lodging 
now.  Yes,  Lady  Hester  once  lived  in  Baker  Street,  and  lies  asleep 
in  the  wilderness.  Eothen  saw  her  there — not  in  Baker  Street : 
^but  in  the  other  solitude. 

It  is  all  vanity  to  be  sure  :  but  who  will  not  own  to  liking  a 
little  of  if?  I  should  like  to  know  what  well-constituted  mind, 
merely  because  it  is  transitory,  dislikes  roast  beef]  That  is  a 
vanity;  but  may  every  man  who  reads  this,  have  a  wholesome 
portion  of  it  through  life,  I  beg :  ay,  though  my  readers  were  five 
hundred  thousand.  Sit  down,  gentlemen,  and  fall  to,  with  a  good 
hearty  appetite  ;  the  fat,  the  lean,  the  gravy,  the  horseradish  as  you 
like  it — don't  spare  it.  Another  glass  of  wine,  Jones,  my  boy — a 
little  bit  of  the  Sunday  side.  Yes,  let  us  eat  our  fill  of  the  vain 
thing,  and  be  thankful  therefor.  And  let  us  make  the  best  of  / 
Becky's  aristocratic  pleasures  likewise — for  these  too,  like^all  other 
mortal  delights,  were  but  transitory.  I 

The  upshot  of  her  visit  to  Lord  Steyne  was,  that  His  Highness 
the  Prince  of  Peterwaradin  took  occasion  to  renew  his  acquaintance 
with  Colonel  Crawley,  when  they  met  on  the  next  day  at  the  Club, 
and  to  compliment  Mrs.  Crawley  in  the  Ring  of  Hyde  Park  with 
a  profound  salute  of  the  hat.  She  and  her  husband  were  invited 
immediately  to  one  of  the  Prince's  small  parties  at  Levant  House, 
then  occupied  by  His  Highness  during  the  temporary  absence  from 
England  of  its  noble  proprietor.  She  sang  after  dinner  to  a  very 
little  comite.  The  Marquis  of  Steyne  was  present,  paternally  super- 
intending the  progress  of  his  pupil. 

At  Levant  House  Becky  met  one  of  the  finest  gentlemen  and 
greatest  ministers  that  Europe  has  produced — the  Due  de  la  Jabo- 
ti^re,  then  Ambassador  from  the  Most  Cliristian  King,  and  subse- 
quently Minister  to  that  monarch.  I  declare  I  swell  with  pride  as 
these  august  names  are  transcribed  by  my  pen ;  and  I  think  in  what 
brilliant  company  my  dear  Becky  is  moving.  She  became  a  con- 
stant guest  at  the  French  Embassy,  where  no  party  was  considered 
to  be  complete  without  the  presence  of  the  charming  Madame  Rav- 
donn  Cravley. 

Messieurs  de  Truffigny  (of  the  P^rigord  family)  and  Champignac, 
both  attaches  of  the  Embassy,  were  straightway  smitten  by  the 
charms  of  the  fair  Colonel's  wife :  and  both  declared,  according  to 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  489 

the  wont  of  their  nation  (for  who  ever  yet  met  a  Frenchman,  come 
out  of  England,  that  has  not  left  half-a-dozen  families  miserable, 
and  brought  away  as  many  hearts  in  his  pocket-book  1),  both,  I 
say,  declared  that  they  were  au  mitux  with  the  charming  Madame 
Ravdonn. 

But  I  doubt  the  correctness  of  the  assertion.  Champignac  was 
very  fond  of  dearth,  and  made  many  parties  with  the  Colonel  of 
evenings,  while  Becky  was  singing  to  Lord  Steyne  in  the  other 
room ;  and  as  for  Truffigny,  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  he  dared 
not  go  to  the  Travellers',  where  he  owed  money  to  the  waiters,  and 
if  he  had  not  had  the  Embassy  as  a  dining-place,  the  worthy  young 
gentleman  must  have  starved.  I  doubt,  I  say,  that  Becky  would 
have  selected  either  of  these  young  men  as  a  person  on  whom  she 
would  bestow  her  special  regard.  They  ran  of  her  messages,  pur- 
chased her  gloves  and  flowers,  went  in  debt  for  opera-boxes  for  her, 
and  made  themselves  amiable  in  a  thousand  ways.  And  they  talked 
English  with  adorable  simplicity,  and  to  the  constant  amusement  of 
Becky  and  my  Lord  Steyne,  she  would  mimic  one  or  other  to  his 
face,  and  compliment  him  on  his  advance  in  the  English  language 
with  a  gravity  which  never  failed  to  tickle  the  Marquis,  her  sardonic 
old  patron.  Truffigny  gave  Briggs  a  shawl  by  way  of  winning  over 
Becky's  confidante,  and  asked  her  to  take  charge  of  a  letter  which 
the  simple  spinster  handed  over  in  public  to  the  person  to  whom  it 
was  addressed;  and  the  composition  of  which  amused  everybody 
who  read  it  greatly.  Lord  Steyne  read  it :  everybody  but  honest 
[Rawdon;  to  whom  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  everything  that  passed 
I  in  the  little  house  in  May  Fair. 

Here,  before  long,  Becky  received  not  only  "  the  best "  foreigners 
(as  the  phrase  is  in  our  noble  and  admirable  society  slang),  but 
some  of  the  best  English  people  too.  I  don't  mean  the  most  vir- 
tuous, or  indeed  the  least  virtuous,  or  the  cleverest,  or  the  stupidest, 
or  the  richest,  or  the  best  bom,  but  "  the  best," — in  a  word,  people 
^about  whom  there  is  no  question'^^ucF  as  the  great  Lady  Fitz- 
Willis,  that  Patron  Saint  of  Almack's,  the  great  Lady  Slowbore, 
the  great  Lady  Grizzel  Macbeth  (she  was  Lady  G.  Glowry,  daughter 
of  Lord  Grey  of  Glowry),  and  the  like.  When  the  Countess  of 
Fitz-Willis  (her  Ladyship  is  of  the  Kingstreet  family,  see  Debrett 
and  Burke)  takes  up  a  person,  he  or  she  is  safe.  There  is  no 
question  about  them  any  more.  Not  that  my  Lady  Fitz-Willis  is 
any  better  than  anybody  else,  being,  on  the  contrary,  a  faded  person, 
fifty-seven  years  of  age,  and  neither  handsome,  nor  wealthy,  nor 
entertaining ;  but  it  is  agreed  on  all  sides  that  she  is  of  the  "  best 
people."  Those  who  go  to  her  are  of  the  best :  and  from  an  old 
grudge  probably  to  Lady  Steyne  (for  whose  coronet  her  Ladyship, 


490  VANITY    FAIR 

then  the  youthful  Georgina  Frederica,  daughter  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  favourite,  the  Earl  of  Portansherry,  had  once  tried),  this  great 
and  famous  leader  of  the  fashion  chose  to  acknowledge  Mrs.  Rawdon 
Crawley :  made  her  a  most  marked  curtsey  at  the  assembly  over 
which  she  presided  :  and  not  only  encouraged  her  son,  Sir  Kitts  (his 
Lordship  got  his  place  through  Lord  Steyne's  interest),  to  frequent 
Mrs.  Crawley's  house,  but  asked  her  to  her  own  mansion,  and  spoke 
to  her  twice  in  the  most  public  and  condescending  manner  during 
dinner.     The  important  fact  was  known  all  over  London  that  night. 
People  who  had  been  crying  fie  about  Mrs.  Crawley  were  silent. 
Wenham,  the  wit  and  lawyer.  Lord  Steyne's  right-hand  man,  went 
about  everywhere  praising  her :  some  who  had  hesitated,  came  for- 
ward at  once  and  welcomed  her :  little  Tom  Toady,  who  had  warned 
Southdown  about  visiting  such  an  abandoned  woman,  now  besought 
to  be  introduced  to  her.     In  a  word,  she  was  admitted  to  be  among 
I    the  "  best "  people.     Ah,  my  beloved  readers  and  brethren,  do  not 
\    envy  poor  Becky  prematurely — glory  like  this  is  said  to  be  fugitive. 
\    It  is  currently  reported  that  even  in  the  very  inmost  circles,  they 
I     are  no  happier  than  the  poor  wanderers  outside  the  zone ;  and  Becky, 
\    who  penetrated  into  the  very  centre  of  fashion,  and  saw  the  great 
\^  George  IV.  face  to  face,  has  owned  since  that  there  too  was  Vanity. 
We  must  be  brief  in  descanting  upon  this  part  of  her  career. 
As  I  cannot   describe   the   mysteries  of  freemasonry,  although  I 
have  a  shrewd  idea  that  it  is  a  humbug:  so  an  uninitiated  man 
cannot  take  upon  himself  to  portray  the  great  world  accurately, 
and  had  best  keep  his  opinions  to  himself  whatever  they  are. 

Becky  has  often  spoken  in  subsequent  years  of  this  season  of  her 
life,  when  she  moved  among  the  very  greatest  circles  of  the  London 
fashion.  Her  success  excited,  elated,  and  then  boredSher.-  At  first 
no  occupatfon  was  more  pleasant  than  to  invent  and  procure  (the 
latter  a  work  of  no  small  trouble  and  ingenuity,  by  the  way,  in 
a  person  of  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  very  narrow  means) — to  procure, 
we  say,  the  prettiest  new  dresses  and  ornaments;  to  drive  to  fine 
dinner  parties,  where  she  was  welcomed  by  great  people ;  and  from 
the  fine  dinner  parties  to  fine  assemblies,  whither  the  same  people 
came  with  whom  she  had  been  dining,  whom  she  had  met  the  night 
before,  and  would  see  on  the  morrow — the  young  men  faultlessly 
appointed,  handsomely  cravatted,  with  the  neatest  glossy  boots  and 
white  gloves — the  elders  portly,  brass-buttoned,  noble-looking,  polite, 
and  prosy — the  young  ladies  blonde,  timid,  and  in  pink — the  mothers 
grand,  beautiful,  sumptuous,  solemn,  and. in  diamonds.  They  talked 
in  English,  not  in  bad  French,  as  they  do  in  the  novels.  They  talked 
about  each  other's  houses,  and  characters,  and  families :  just  as  the 
Joneses  do  about  the  Smiths.     Becky's  former  acquaintances  hated 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  491 

and  envied  her :  the  poor  woman  herself  was  yawning  in  spirit 
"  I  wish  I  were  out  of  it,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  would  rather  be 
a  parson's  wife,  and  teach  a  Sunday  School  than  this ;  or  a  sergeant's 
lady,  and  ride  in  the  regimental  waggon ;  or,  0  how  much  gayer  it 
would  be  to  wear  spangles  and  trousers,  and  dance  before  a  booth  at 
a  fitir." 

"  You  would  do  it  very  well,"  said  Lord  Steyne,  laughing.  She 
used  to  tell  the  great  man  her  ennuis  and  perplexities  in  her  artless 
way — they  amused  him. 

"Rawdon   would  make   a  very  good  Ecuyer — Master  of  the 
Ceremonies — what  do  you  call  him — the  man  in  the  large  boots  and 
the  uniform,  who  goes  round  the  ring  cracking  the  whipl     He  is 
large,  heavy,  and  of  a  military  figure.     I  recollect,"  Becky  continued  , 
pensively,  "my  father  took  me  to  see  a  show  at  Brookgreen  Fair  1 
when  I  was  a  child ;  and  when  we  came  home  I  made  myself  a  pair  ) 
of  stilts  and  danced  in  the  studio  to  the  wonder  of  all  the  pupils." 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  see  it,"  said  Lord  Steyne. 

**  I  should  like  to  do  it  now,"  Becky  continued.     "  How  Lady 
Blinkey  would  open  her  eyes,  and  Lady  Grizzel  Macbeth  would 
stare  !     Hush  !  silence  !  there  is  Pasta  beginning  to  sing."     Becky 
always  made  a  point  of  being  conspicuously  polite  to  the  profes- 
sional ladies  and  gentlemen  who  attended  at  these  aristocratic  parties 
— of  following  them  into  the  comers  where  they  sate  in  silence, 
and  shaking  hands  with   tljem,    and   smiling  in  the  view  of  all 
persons.     She  waa^n  artisV  herself,  as  she  said  very  truly :  there 
was  a  frankness  and  humUTty  in  the  manner  in  which  she  acknow- 
ledged her  origin,  which  provoked,  or  disarmed,  or  amused  lookers- 
on,  as  the  case  might  be.     "How  cool  that  woman  is  ! "  said  one ;-. 
"what  airs  of  independence  she  assumes,  where  she  ought  to  sit  j 
still  and  be  thankful  if  anybody  speaks  to  her  !  "     What  an  honest  / 
and  good-natured  soul  she  is ! "  said  another.     "  What  an  artful  \ 
little  minx ! "  said  a  third.     Theyjwere  all  right  very  likely ;  but  / 
Becky  went  her  own  way,  and  so  fascinated  the  pro^ssional  person- 
ages, that  they  would  leave  off  their  sore  throats  in  order  to  sing  at 
her  parties,  and  give  her  lessons  for  nothing. 

Yes,  she  gave  parties  in  the  little  house  in  Curzon  Street. 
Many  scores  of  carriages,  with  blazing  lamps,  blocked  up  the  street, 
to  the  disgust  of  No.  100,  who  could  not  rest  for  the  thunder  of  the 
knocking,  and  of  102,  who  could  not  sleep  for  envy.  The  gigantic 
footmen  who  accompanied  the  vehicles  were  too  big  to  be  contained 
in  Becky's  little  hall,  and  were  billeted  off  in  the  neighbouring 
pubUc-houses,  whence,  when  they  were  wanted,  call-boys  summoned 
them  from  their  beer.  Scores  of  the  great  dandies  of  London 
squeezed  and  trod  on  each  other  on  the  little  stairs,  laughing  to  find 


r 


492  VANITY    FAIR 

themselves  there ;  and  many  spotless  and  severe  ladies  of  ton  were 
seated  in  the  little  drawing-room,  listening  to  the  professional 
singers,  who  were  singing  according  to  their  wont,  and  as  if  they 
wished  to  blow  the  windows  down.  And  the  day  after,  there 
appeared  among  the  fashionable  reunions  in  the  Morning  Post  a 
paragraph  to  the  following  effect : — 

"Yesterday,   Colonel   and  Mrs.   Crawley   entertained  a   select 

party  at  dinner  at  their  house  in  May  Fair.     Their  Excellencies 

the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Peterwaradin,  H.E.  Papoosh  Pasha,  the 

Turkish  Ambassador  (attended  by  Kibob  Bey,   dragoman  of  the 

^  mission),  the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  Earl  of  Southdown,  Sir  Pitt  and 

-'Lady  Jane  Crawley,  Mr.  Wagg,  &c.     After  dinner  Mrs.  Crawley 

/'V\  had  an  assembly  which  was  attended  by  the  Duchess  (Dowager)  of 
1  Stilton,  Due  de  la  G-ruy^re,  Marchioness  of  Cheshire,  Marchese 
Alessandro  Strachino,  Comte  de  Brie,  Baron  Schapzuger,  Chevalier 
Tosti,  Countess  of  Slingstone,  and  Lady  F.  Macadam,  Major-General 
and  Lady  G.  Macbeth,  and  (2)  Miss  Macbeths ;  Viscount  Padding- 
ton,  Sir  Horace  Fogey,  Hon.  Sands  Bedwin,  Bobbachy  Bahawder," 
and  an  &c.,  which  the  reader  may  fill  at  his  pleasure  through  a 
dozen  close  lines  of  small  type. 

And  in  her  commerce  with  the  great  our  dear  friend  showed 
the  same  frankness  which  distinguished  her  transactions  with  the 
lowly  in  station.  On  one  occasion,  when  out  at  a  very  fine  house, 
Rebecca  was  (perhaps  rather  ostentatiously)  holding  a  conversation 
in  the  French  language  with  a  celebrated  tenor  singer  of  that  nation, 
while  the  Lady  Grizzel  Macbeth  looked  over  her  shoulder  scowling 
at  the  pair. 

"  How  very  well  you  speak  French,"  Lady  Grizzel  said,  who 
herself  spoke  the  tongue  in  an  Edinburgh  accent  most  remarkable 
to  hear. 

"  I  ought  to  know  it,"  Becky  modestly  said,  casting  down  her  eyes. 
"  I  taught  it  in  a  school,  and  my  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman." 

rLady  Grizzel  was  won  by  her  humility,  and  was  mollified  towards 
the  little  woman.  She  deplored  the  fatal  levelling  tendencies  of  the 
age,  which  admitted  persons  of  all  classes  into  the  society  of  their 
superiors ;  but  her  Ladyship  owned,  that  this  one  at  least  was  well 
behaved  and  never  forgot  her  place  in  life.  She  was  a  very  good 
woman :  good  to  the  poor :  stupid,  blameless,  unsuspicious^ — It  is 
not  her  Ladyship's  fault  that  she  fancies  herself  better  than  you  and 
me.  The  skirts  of  her  ancestors'  garments  have  been  kissed  for 
centuries  :  it  is  a  thousand  years,  they  say,  since  the  tartans  of  the 
head  of  the  family  were  embraced  by  the  defunct  Duncan's  lords 
and  councillors,  when  the  great  ancestor  of  the  House  became  King 
of  Scotland. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  493 

v^  Lady  Steyne,  after  the  music  scene,  succumbed  before  Becky, 
and  perhaps  was  not  disincHned  to  her.  The  younger  ladies  of  the 
House  of  Gaunt  were  also  compelled  into  submission.  Once  or  twice 
they  set  people  at  her,  but  they  failed.  The  brilliant  Lady  Stun- 
nington  tried  a  passage  of  arms  with  her,  but  was  routed  with  great 
slaughter  by  the  intrepid  little  Becky.  When  attacked  sometimes, 
Becky  had  a  knack  of  adopting  a  demure  ingenue  air,  under  which 
she  was  most  dangerous.  She  said  the  wickedest  things  with  the 
most  simple  unaffected  air  when  in  this  mood,  and  would  take  care 
C  artlessly^to  apologise  for  her  blunders,  so  that  all  the  world  should 
know  that  she  had  made  them. 

Mr.  Wagg,  the  celebrated  wit,  and  a  led  captain  and  trencher- 
man of  my  Lord  Steyne,  was  caused  by  the  ladies  to  charge  her ; 
and  the  worthy  fellow,  leering  at  his  patronesses,  and  giving  them  a 
wink,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Now  look  out  for  sport," — one  evening 
began  an  assault  upon  Becky,  who  was  unsuspiciously  eating  her 
dinner..  The  little  woman,  attacked  on  a  sudden,  but  never  without 
arms,  lighted  up  in  an  instant,  parried  and  riposted  with  a  home- 
thrust,  which  made  Wagg's  face  tingle  with  shame;  then  she 
returned  to  her  soup  with  the  most  perfect  calm  and  a  quiet  smile 
on  her  face.  Wagg's  great  patron,  who  gave  him  dinners  and  lent 
him  a  little  money  sometimes,  and  whose  election,  newspaper,  and 
other  jobs  Wagg  did,  gave  the  luckless  fellow  such  a  savage  glance 
with  the  eyes  as  almost  made  him  sink  under  the  table  and  burst 
into  tears.  He  looked  piteously  at  my  Lord,  who  never  spoke  to 
him  during  dinner,  and  at  the  ladies,  who  disowned  him.  At  last 
Becky  herself  took  compassion  upon  him,  and  tried  to  engage  him 
in  talk.  He  was  not  asked  to  dinner  again  for  six  weeks;  and 
Fiche,  my  Lord's  confidential  man,  to  whom  Wagg  naturally  paid 
a  good  deal  of  court,  was  instructed  to  tell  him  that  if  he  ever  dared 
to  say  a  rude  thing  to  Mrs.  Crawley  again,  or  make  her  the  butt  of 
his  stupid  jokes,  Milor  would  put  every  one  of  his  notes  of  hand 
into  his  lawyer's  hands,  and  sell  him  up  without  mercy.  Wagg 
wept  before  Fiche,  and  implored  his  dear  friend  to  intercede  for 
him.  He  wrote  a  poem  in  favour  of  Mrs.  R.  C,  which  appeared  in 
the  very  next  number  of  the  Harum-scarum  Magazine^  which  he 
conducted.  He  implored  her  good-will  at  parties  where  he  met  her. 
He  cringed  and  coaxed  Rawdon  at  the  club.  He  was  allowed  to 
oome  back  to  Gaunt  House  after  a  while.  Becky  w^as  always  good 
to  him,  always  amused,  never  angry. 

His  Lordship's  vizier  and  chief  confidential  servant  (with  a 
seat  in  Parliament  and  at  the  dinner  table),  Mr.  Wenham,  was 
much  more  prudent  in  his  behaviour  and  opinions  than  Mr.  Wagg. 
However  much  he  might  be  disposed  to  hate  all  parvenus  (Mr. 


'494  VANITY    FAIR 

Wenham  himself  was  a  stanch  old  True  Blue  Tory,  and  his  father 
a  small  coal-merchant  in  the  north  of  England),  this  aide-de-camp  of 
the  Marquis  never  showed  any  sort  of  hostility  to  the  new  favourite  ; 
but  pursued  her  with  stealthy  kindnesses,  and  a  sly  and  deferential 

i  politeness,  which  somehow  made  Becky  more  uneasy  than  other 
people's  overt  hostilities. 

How  the  Crawleys  got  the  money  which  was  spent  upon  the 
entertainments  with  which  they  treated  the  polite  world,  was  a 
mystery  which  gave  rise  to  some  conversation  at  the  time,  and  prob- 
ably added  zest  to  these  little  festivities.  Some  persons  averred 
that  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  gave  his  brother  a  handsome  allowance  :  if  he 
did,  Becky's  power  over  the  Baronet  must  have  been  extraordinary 
indeed,  and  his  character  greatly  changed  in  his  advanced  age. 
Other  parties  hinted  that  it  was  Becky's  habit  to  levy  contributions 
on  all  her  husband's  friends :  going  to  this  one  in  tears  with  an 
account  that  there  was  an  execution  in  the  house ;  falling  on  her 
knees  to  that  one,  and  declaring  that  the  whole  family  must  go  to 
gaol  or  commit  suicide  unless  such  and  such  a  bill  could  be  paid. 
Lord  Southdown,  it  was  said,  had  been  induced  to  give  many 
hundreds  through  these  pathetic  representations.  Young  Feltham, 
of  the  — th  Dragoons  (and  son  of  the  firm  of  Tiler  and  Feltham, 
hatters  and  army  accoutrement  makers),  and  whom  the  Crawleys 
introduced  into  fashionable  life,  was  also  cited  as  one  of  Becky's 
victims  in  the  pecuniary  way.  People  declared  that  she  got  money 
from  various  simply  disposed  persons,  under  pretence  of  getting  them 
confidential  appointments  under  Government.  Who  knows  what 
stories  were  or  were  not  told  of  our  dear  and  innocent  friend? 
Certain  it  is,  that  if  she  had  had  all  the  money  which  she  was  said 
to  have  begged  or  borrowed  or  stolen,  she  might  have  capitalised 
and  been  honest  for  life,  whereas, — but  this  is  advancing  mattei*s. 

The  truth  is,  that  by  economy  and  good  management — by  a 
sparing  use  of  ready  money  and  by  paying  scarcely  anybody, — people 
«an  manage,  for  a  time  at  least,  to  make  a  great  show  with  very 
little  means  :  and  it  is  our  belief  that  Becky's  much-talked-of  parties, 
which  were  not,  after  all  was  said,  very  numerous,  cost  this  lady 
very  little  more  than  the  wax  candles  which  lighted  the  walls. 
Stillbrook  and  Queen's  Crawley  supplied  her  with  game  and  fruit  in 
abundance.  Lord  Steyne's  cellars  were  at  her  disposal,  and  that 
excellent  nobleman's  famous  cooks  presided  over  her  little  kitchen, 
or  sent  by  my  lord's  order  the  rarest  delicacies  from  their  own.  I 
protest  it  is  quite  shameful  in  the  world  to  abuse  a  simple  creature, 
as  people  of  her  time  abuse  Becky,  and  I  warn  the  public  against 
believing  one-tenth  of  the  stories  against  her.  If  every  peraon  is  to 
l)e  banished  from  society  who  runs  into  debt  and  cannot  pay — if  we 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  495 

are  to  be  peering  into  everybody's  private  life,  speculating  upon  their 
income,  and  cutting  them  if  we  don't  approve  of  their  expenditure — 
why,  what  a  howling  wilderness  and  intolerable  dwelling  Vanity 
Fair  would  be  !     Every  man's  hand  would  be  against  his  neighbour 
in  this  case,  my  dear  sir,  and  the  benefits  of  civilisation  would  be 
done  away  with.     We  should  be  quarrelling,  abusing,  avoiding  one 
another.     Our  houses  would  become  caverns :  and  we  should  go  in 
rags  because  we  cared  for  nobody.     Rents  would  go  down.     Parties 
wouldn't  be  given  any  more.     All  the  tradesmen  of  the  town  would 
be  bankrupt.     Wine,  wax-lights,  comestibles,  rouge,  crinoline  petti- 
coats, diamonds,  wigs,  Louis-Quatorze  gimcracks,  and  old  china, 
park  hacks,   and  splendid   high-stepping   carriage   horses — all  the 
delights  of  life,  I  say, — would  go  to  the  deuce,  if  people  did  but  act 
upon  their  silly  principles,  and  avoid  those  whom  they  dislike  and 
abuse.     Whereas,  by  a  little  charity  and  mutual  forbearance,  thingsX 
are  made  to  go  on  pleasantly  enough :  we  may  abuse  a  man  as    \ 
much  as  we  like,  and  call  him  the  greatest  rascal  unhanged — but     r 
do  we  msh  to  hang  him  therefore?     No.    We  shake  hands  when  / 
we  meet.     If  his  cook  is  good  we  forgive  him,  and  go  and  dine  with  I 
him ;   and  we  expect  he  will  do  the  same  by  us.     Thus  trade    \ 
flomishes — civilisation  advances :    peace  is  kept ;   new  dresses  are       J 
wanted  for  new  assemblies  every  week  °,  and  the  last  year's  vintage     / 
of  Lafitte  will  remunerate  the  honest  proprietor  who  reared  it.  -^ 

At  the  time  whereof  we  are  writing,  though  the  Great  George 
was  on  the  throne  and  ladies  wore  gigots  and  large  combs  like 
tortoiseshell  shovels  in  their  hair,  instead  of  the  simple  sleeves  and 
lovely  wreaths  which  are  actually  in  fashion,  the  manners  of  the 
very  polite  world  were  not,  I  take  it,  essentially  different  from  those 
of  the  present  day :  and  their  amusements  pretty  similar.  To  us, 
from  the  outside,  gazing  over  the  poHceman's  shoulders  at  the 
bewildering  beauties  as  they  pass  into  court  or  ball,  they  may  seem 
beings  of  unearthly  splendour,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  an  exquisite 
happiness  by  us  unattainable.  It  is  to  console  some  of  these  dis- 
satisfied beings,  that  we  are  narrating  our  dear  Becky's  struggles, 
and  triumphs,  and  disappointments,  of  all  of  which,  indeed,  as  is  the 
case  with  all  persons  of  merit,  she  had  her  share. 

At  this  time  the  amiable  amusement  of  acting  charades  had 
come  among  us  from  France  :  and  was  considerably  in  vogue  in  this 
country,  enabling  the  many  ladies  amongst  us  who  had  beauty  to 
display  their  charms,  and  the  fewer  number  who  had  cleverness,  to 
3xhibit  their  wit.  My  Lord  Steyne  was  incited  by  Becky,  who 
perhaps  believed  herself  endowed  with  both  the  above  qualifications, 
to  give  an  entertainment  at  Gaunt  House,  which  should  include 
some  of  these  little  dramas — and  we  must  take  leave  to  introduce 


496  VANITY    FAIR 

the  reader  to  this  brilliant  reunion,  and^  with  a  melancholy  welcome 
too,  for  it  will  be  among  the  very  last  of  the  fashionable  entertain- 
ments to  which  it  will  be  our  fortune  to  conduct  him. 

A  portion  of  that  splendid  room,  the  picture-gallery  of  Gaunt 
House,  was  arranged  as  the  charade  theatre.  It  had  been  so  used 
when  George  III.  was  king ;  and  a  picture  of  the  Marquis  of  Gaunt 
is  still  extant,  with  his  hair  in  powder  and  a  pink  ribbon,  in  a 
Roman  shape,  as  it  was  called,  enacting  the  part  of  Cato  in  Mr. 
Addison's  tragedy  of  that  name,  performed  before  their  Royal 
Highnesses  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  Bishop  of  Osnaburgh,  and 
Prince  William  Henry,  then  children  like  the  actor.  One  or  two 
of  the  old  properties  were  drawn  out  of  the  garrets,  where  they  had 
lain  ever  since,  and  furnished  up  anew  for  the  present  festivities. 

Young  Bedwin  Sands,  then  an  elegant  dandy  and  Eastern 
traveller,  was  manager  of  the  revels.  An  Eastern  traveller  was 
somebody  in  those  days,  and  the  adventurous  Bedwin,  who  had 
published  his  quarto,  and  passed  some  months  under  the  tents  in 
the  desert,  was  a  personage  of  no  small  importance. — In  his  volume 
there  were  several  pictures  of  Sands  in  various  oriental  costumes; 
and  he  travelled  about  with  a  black  attendant  of  most  unprepossess- 
ing appearance,  just  like  another  Brian  de  Bois  Guilbert,  Bedwin, 
his  costumes,  and  black  man,  were  hailed  at  Gaunt  House  as  very 
valuable  acquisitions. 

He  led  off  the  fii*st  charade.  A  Tm-kish  officer  with  an  immense 
plume  of  feathers  (the  Janizaries  were  supposed  to  be  still  in  exist- 
ence, and  the  tarboosh  had  not  as  yet  displaced  the  ancient  and 
majestic  head-dress  of  the  true  believers),  was  seen  couched  on  a 
divan,  and  making  believe  to  puff  at  a  narghile,  in  which,  however, 
for  the  sake  of  the  ladies,  only  a  fragrant  pastille  was  allowed  to 
smoke.  The  Turkish  dignitary  yawns  and  expresses  signs  of  weari- 
ness and  idleness.  He  claps  his  hands  and  Mesrour  the  Nubian 
appears,  with  bare  arms,  bangles,  yataghans,  and  every  Eastern 
ornament — gaunt,  tall,  and  hideous.  He  makes  a  salaam  before 
my  lord  the  Aga. 

A  thrill  of  terror  and  delight  runs  through  the  assembly.  The 
ladies  whisper  to  one  another.  The  black  slave  was  given  to  Bedwin 
Sands  by  an  Egyptian  Pasha  in  exchange  for  three  dozen  of  Maras- 
chino. He  has  sewn  up  ever  so  many  odalisques  in  sacks  and  tilted 
them  into  the  Nile. 

"  Bid  the  slave-merchant  enter,"  says  the  Turkish  voluptuary 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  Mesrour  conducts  the  slave-merchant  into 
my  lord's  presence :  he  brings  a  veiled  female  with  him.  He 
removes  the  veil.  A  thrill  of  applause  bursts  through  the  house. 
It  18  Mrs.  Winkworth  (she  was  a  Miss  Absolom)  with  the  beautiful 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  497 

eyes  and  hair.  She  is  in  a  gorgeous  oriental  costume ;  the  black 
braided  locks  are  twined  with  innumerable  jewels ;  her  dress  is 
covered  over  with  gold  piastres.  The  odious  Mahometan  expresses 
himself  charmed  by  her  beauty.  S^e  falls  down  on  her  knees,  and 
entreats  him  to  restore  her  to  the  mountains  where  she  was  bom, 
and  where  hel*  Circassian  lover  is  still  deploring  the  absence  of  his 
Zuleikah.  No  entreaties  will  move  the  obdurate  Hassan.  He 
laughs  at  the  notion  of  the  Circassian  bridegroom.  Zuleikah  covers 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  drops  down  in  an  attitude  of  the  most 
beautiful  despair.  There  seems  to  be  no  hope  for  her,  when — when 
the  Kislar  Aga  appears. 

The  Kislar  Aga  brings  a  letter  from  the  Sultan.  Hassan 
receives  and  places  on  his  head  the  dread  firman.  A  ghastly  terror 
seizes  him,  while  on  the  negro's  face  (it  is  Mesrour  again  in  another 
costume)  appears  a  ghastly  joy.  "  Mercy  !  mercy  ! "  cries  the  Pasha : 
while  the  Kislar  Aga,  grinning  hombly,  pulls  out — a  bow-string. 

The  curtain  draws  just  as  he  is  going  to  use  that  awful  weapon. 
Hassan  from  within  bawls  out,  "First  two  syllables" — and  Mrs. 
Rawdon  Crawley,  who  is  going  to  act  in  the  charade,  comes  forward 
and  compliments  Mrs.  Winkworth  on  the  admirable  taste  and  beauty 
of  her  costume. 

The  second  part  of  the  charade  takes  place.  It  is  still  an 
Eastern  scene.  Hassan,  in  another  dress,  is  in  an  attitude  by 
Zuleikah,  who  is  perfectly  reconciled  to  him.  The  Kislar  Aga  has 
become  a  peaceful  black  slave.  It  is  sunrise  on  the  desert,  and  the 
Turks  turn  their  heads  eastwards  and  bow  to  the  sand.  As  there 
are  no  dromedaries  at  hand,  the  band  facetiously  plays  "  The  Camels 
are  coming."  An  enormous  Egyptian  head  figures  in  the  scene. 
It  is  a  musical  one, — and,  to  the  surprise  of  the  oriental  travellers, 
sings  a  comic  song,  composed  by  Mr.  Wagg.  The  Eastern  voyagers 
go  off  dancing,  like  Papageno  and  the  Moorish  King,  in  the  "  Magic 
Flute."     "  Last  two  syllables  "  roars  the  head. 

The  last  act  opens.  It  is  a  Grecian  tent  this  time.  A  tall  and 
stalwart  man  reposes  on  a  couch  there.  Above  him  hang  his  helmet 
and  shield.  There  is  no  need  for  them  now.  Ilium  is  down. 
Iphigenia  is  slain.  Cassandra  is  a  prisoner  in  his  outer  halls. 
The  king  of  men  (it  is  Colonel  Crawley,  who,  indeed,  has  no  notion 
about  the  sack  of  Ilium  or  the  conquest  of  Cassandra),  the  anax 
andron  is  asleep  in  his  chamber  at  Argos.  A  lamp  casts  the  broad 
shadow  of  the  sleeping  warrior  flickering  on  the  wall — the  sword 
and  shield  of  Troy  glitter  in  its  light.  The  band  plays  the  awful 
music  of  "  Don  Juan,"  before  the  statue  enters. 

JEgisthus  steals  in  pale  and  on  tiptoe.  What  is  that  ghastly 
face  looking  out  balefully  after  him  from  behind  the  arras  1  He 
12 


49^  VANITY    FAIR 

raises  his  dagger  to  strike  the  sleeper,  who  turns  in  his  bed,  and 
opens  his  broad  chest  as  if  for  the  blow.  He  cannot  strike  the 
noble  slumbering  chieftain.  Olytemnestra  glides  swiftly  into  the 
room  like  an  apparition — her  arms  are  bare  and  white — her  tawny 
hair  floats  down  her  shoulders — her  face  is  deadly  pale — and  her 
eyes  are  lighted  up  with  a  smile  so  ghastly,  that  people  quake  as 
they  look  at  her. 

A  tremor  ran  through  the  room.  "  Good  God ! "  somebody 
said,  "  it's  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley." 

Scornfully  she  snatches  the  dagger  out  of  jEgisthus's  hand,  and 
advances  to  the  bed.  You  see  it  shining  over  her  head  in  the 
glimmer  of  the  lamp,  and — and  the  lamp  goes  out,  with  a  groan, 
and  all  is  dark. 

The  darkness  and  the  scene  frightened  people.  Rebecca  per- 
formed her  part  so  well,  and  with  such  ghastly  truth,  that  the 
spectators  were  all  dumb,  until,  with  a  burst,  all  the  lamps  of  the 
hall  blazed  out  again,  when  everybody  began  to  shout  applause. 
"  Brava !  brava ! "  old  Steyne's  strident  voice  was  heard  roaring 

over  all  the  rest.     "  By ,  she'd  do  it  too,"  he  said  between  his 

teeth.  The  performers  were  called  by  the  whole  house,  which 
sounded  with  cries  of  "  Manager  !  Olytemnestra  ! "  AGAMEMNON 
could  not  be  got  to  show  in  his  classical  tunic,  but  stood  in  the 
background  with  ^gisthus  and  others  of  the  performers  of  the 
little  play.  Mr.  Bedwin  Sands  led  on  Zuleikah  and  Olytemnestra. 
A  great  personage  insisted  on  being  presented  to  the  charming 
Olytemnestra.  "  Heigh  ha  1  Run  him  through  the  body.  Marry 
somebody  else,  hay?"  was  the  apposite  remark  made  by  His 
Royal  Highness. 

"Mrs.  Rawdon  Orawley  was  quite  killing  in  the  part,"  said 
Lord  Steyne.  Becky  laughed;  gay,  and  saucy  looking,  and  swept 
the  prettiest  little  curtsey  ever  seen. 

Servants  brought  in  salvers  covered  with  numerous  cool  dainties, 
and  the  performers  disappeared  to  get  ready  for  the  second  charade- 
tableau. 

The  three  syllables  of  this  charade  were  to  be  depicted  in 
pantomime,  and  the  performance  took  place  in  the  following  wise  :— 

First  syllable.  Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  C.B.,  with  a  slouched 
hat  and  a  staff,  a  greatcoat,  and  a  lantern  borrowed  from  the  stables, 
passed  across  the  stage  bawling  out,  as  if  warning  the  inhabitants 
of  the  hour.  In  the  lower  window  are  seen  two  bagmen  playing 
apparently  at  the  game  of  cribbage,  over  which  they  yawn  much.  To 
them  enters  one  looking  like  Boots  (the  Honourable  G.  Ringwood), 
which  character  the  young  gentleman  performed  to  perfection,  and 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  499 

divests  them  of  their  lower  coverings ;  and  presently  Chambermaid 
(the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Southdown)  with  two  candlesticks,  and 
a  warming-pan.  She  ascends  to  the  upper  apartment,  and  warms 
the  bed.  She  uses  the  warming-p«tn  as  a  weapon  wherewith  she 
wards  oflf  the  attention  of  the  bagmen.  She  exits.  They  put  on 
their  nightcaps,  and  pull  down  the  blinds.  Boots  comes  out  and 
closes  the  shutters  of  the  ground-floor  chamber.  You  hear  him 
bolting  and  chaining  the  door  within.  All  the  lights  go  out.  The 
music  plays  Dormez^  dormez,  chers  Amours.  A  voice  from  behind 
the  curtain  says,  "  First  syllable." 

Second  syllable.  The  lamps  are  lighted  up  all  of  a  sudden. 
The  music  plays  the  old  air  from  John  of  Paris,  Ah  qv^l  plaisir 
d'etre  en  voyage.  It  is  the  same  scene.  Between  the  first  and 
second  floors  of  the  house  represented,  you  behold  a  sign  on  which 
the  Steyne  anns  are  painted.  All  the  bells  are  ringing  all  over  the 
house.  In  the  lower  apartment  you  see  a  man  with  a  long  slip  of 
paper  presenting  it  to  another,  who  shakes  his  fists,  threatens  and 
vows  that  it  is  monstrous.  "Ostler,  bring  round  my  gig,"  cries 
another  at  the  door.  He  chucks  Chambermaid  (the  Right  Honour- 
able Lord  Southdown)  under  the  chin;  she  seems  to  deplore  his 
absence,  as  Calypso  did  that  of  that  other  eminent  traveller  Ulysses. 
Boots  (the  Honourable  G.  Ringwood)  passes  with  a  wooden  box, 
containing  silver  flagons,  and  cries  "Pots"  with  such  exquisite 
humour  and  naturalness,  that  the  whole  house  rings  with  applause, 
and  a  bouquet  is  thrown  to  him.  Crack,  crack,  crack,  go  the  whips. 
Landlord,  chambermaid,  waiter  rush  to  the  door ;  but  just  as  some 
distinguished  guest  is  arriving,  the  curtains  close,  and  the  invisible 
theatrical  manager  cries  out  "  Second  syllable." 

"  I  think  it  must  be  *  Hotel,' "  says  Captain  Grigg  of  the  Life 
Guards ;  there  is  a  general  laugh  at  the  Captain's  cleverness.  He 
is  not  very  far  from  the  mark. 

While  the  third  syllable  is  in  preparation,  the  band  begins  a 
nautical  medley — "All  in  the  Downs,"  "Cease,  Rude  Boreas," 
"  Rule  Britannia,"  "  In  the  Bay  of  Biscay  0  ! " — some  maritime 
event  is  about  to  take  place.  A  bell  is  heard  ringing  as  the  curtain 
draws  aside.  "  Now,  gents,  for  the  shore ! "  a  voice  exclaims. 
People  take  leave  of  each  other.  They  point  anxiously  as  if  towards 
the  clouds,  which  are  represented  by  a  dark  curtain,  and  they  nod 
their  heads  in  fear.  Lady  Squeams  (the  Right  Honourable  Lord 
Southdown),  her  lap-dog,  her  bags,  reticules,  and  husband,  sit  down, 
and  cling  hold  of  some  ropes.     It  is  evidently  a  ship. 

The  Captain  (Colonel  Crawley,  C.B.),  with  a  cocked  hat  and  a 
telescope,  comes  in,  holding  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  looks  out ;  his 
coat-tails  fly  about  as  if  in  the  wind.     When  he  leaves  go  of  his  hat 


5O0  VANITY   FAIR 

to  use  his  telescope,  his  hat  flies  ott',  with  immense  applause.  It  is 
blowing  fresh.  The  music  rises  and  whistles  louder  and  louder  ;  the 
mariners  go  across  the  stage  staggering,  as  if  the  ship  was  in  severe 
motion.  The  Steward  (the  Honourable  G.  Ringwood)  passes  reeling 
by,  holding  six  basins.  He  puts  one  rapidly  by  Lord  Squeams— 
Lady  Squeams,  giving  a  pinch  to  her  dog,  which  begins  to  howl 
piteously,  puts  her  pocket-handkerchief  to  her  face,  and  rushes  away 
as  for  the  cabin.  The  music  rises  up  to  the  wildest  pitch  of  stormy 
excitement,  and  the  third  syllable  is  concluded. 

There  was  a  little  ballet,  "  Le  Rossignol,"  in  which  Montessu 
and  Noblet  used  to  be  famous  in  those  days,  and  which  Mr.  Wagg 
transferred  to  the  English  stage  as  an  opera,  putting  his  verse,  of 
whi(3h  he  was  a  skilful  writer,  to  the  pretty  airs  of  the  ballet.  It 
was  dressed  in  old  French  costume,  and  little  Lord  Southdown  now 
appeared  admirably  attired  in  the  disguise  of  an  old  woman  hobbling 
about  the  stage  with  a  faultless  crooked  stick. 

Trills  of  melody  were  heard  behind  the  scenes,  and  gurgling 
from  a  sweet  pasteboard  cottage  covered  with  roses  and  trellis 
work.  "  PhilomMe,  PhilomMe,"  cries  the  old  woman,  and  Philomfele 
comes  out. 

More  applause — it  is  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  in  powder  and 
patches,  the  most  ravissante  little  Marquise  in  the  world. 

She  comes  in  laughing,  humming,  and  frisks  about  the  stage 
with  all  the  innocence  of  theatrical  youth — she  makes  a  curtsey. 
Mamma  says,  "  Why,  child,  you  are  always  laughing  and  singing," 
and  away  she  goes,  with — 

THE  KOSE  UPON  MY  BALCONY. 

The  rose  upon  my  balcony  the  morning  air  perfuming, 

Was  leafless  all  the  winter  time  and  pining  for  the  spring  ; 

You  ask  me  why  her  breath  is  sweet,  and  why  her  cheek  is  blooming, 

It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  birds  begin  to  sing. 

The  nightingale,  whose  melody  is  through  the  greenwood  ringing, 
Was  silent  when  the  boughs  were  bare  and  winds  were  blowing  keen  : 
And  if,  Mamma,  you  ask  of  me  the  reason  of  his  singing, 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  all  the  leaves  are  green. 

Thus  each  performs  his  part,  Mamma,  the  birds  have  found  their  voices^ 
The  blowing  rose  a  flush.  Mamma,  her  bonny  cheek  to  dye  ; 
And  there's  sunshine  in  my  heart.  Mamma,  which  wakens  and  rejoices, 
And  so  I  sing  and  blush,  Mamma,  and  that's  the  reason  why. 

During  the  intervals  of  the  stanzas  of  this  ditty,  the  good- 
natured  personage  addressed  as  mamma  by  the  singer,  and  whose 
large  whiskers  appeared  under  her  cap,   seemed   very  anxious  to 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  501 

exhibit  her  maternal  aifection  by  embracing  the  innocent  creature 
who  performed  the  (laughter's  part.  Every  caress  was  received 
with  loud  acclamations  of  laughter  by  the  sympathising  audience. 
At  its  conclusion  (while  the  music  \ra,s  performing  a  symphony  as  if 
ever  so  many  birds  were  warbling)  the  whole  house  was  unanimous 
for  an  encore :  and  applause  and  bouquets  without  end  were 
showered  upon  the  nightingale  of  the  evening.  Lord  Steyne's 
voice  of  applause  was  loudest  of  all.  Becky,  the  nightingale,  took 
the  flowers  which  he  threw  to  her,  and  pressed  them  to  her  heart 
with  the  air  of  a  consummate  comedian.  Lord  Steyne  was  frantic 
with  delight.  His  guests'  enthusiasm  harmonised  with  his  own. 
Where  was  the  beautiful  black-eyed  Houri  whose  appearance  in  the 
first  charade  had  caused  such  delight  %  She  was  twice  as  handsome 
as  Becky,  but  the  brilliancy  of  the  latter  had  quite  eclipsed  her. 
All  voices  were  for  her.  Stephens,  Caradori,  Ronzi  de  Begnis, 
people  compared  her  to  one  or  the  other,  and  agreed  with  good 
reason,  very  likely,  that  had  she  been  an  actress  none  on  the  stage 
could  have  surpassed  her.  She  had  reached  her  culmination :  her 
voice  rose  trilling  and  bright  over  the  storm  of  applause  :  and  soared 
as  high  and  joyful  as  her  triumph.  There  was  a  ball  after  the 
dramatic  entertainments,  and  everybody  pressed  round  Becky  as  the 
great  point  of  attraction  of  the  evening.  The  Royal  Personage 
declared  with  an  oath  that  she  was  perfection,  and  engaged  her 
again  and  again  in  conversation.  Little  Becky's  soul  swelled  with 
pride  and  delight  at  these  honours;  she  saw  fortune,  fame,  fashion 
before  her.  Lord  Steyne  jEafi  her...alave ;  followed  her  everywhere, 
and  scarcely  spoke  to  any  one  in  the  room  beside ;  and  paid  her  the 
most  marked  compliments  and  attention.  She  still  appeared  in  her 
Marquise  costume,  and  danced  a  minuet  with  Monsieur  de  Trufiigny, 
Monsieur  Le  Due  de  la  Jaboti^re's  attach^;  and  the  Duke,  who 
had  all  the  traditions  of  the  ancient  Court,  pronounced  that  Madame 
Crawley  was  worthy  to  have  been  a  pupil  of  Vestris,  or  to  have 
figured  at  Versailles.  Only  a  feeling  of  dignity,  the  gout,  and  the 
strongest  sense  of  duty  and  personal  sacrifice,  prevented  his  Excel- 
lency from  dancing  with  her  himself;  and  he  declared  in  public, 
that  a  lady  who  could  talk  and  dance  like  Mrs.  Rawdon,  was  fit  to 
be  ambassadress  at  any  court  in  Eiu-ope.  He  was  only  consoled 
when  he  heard  that  she  was  half  a  Frenchwoman  by  birth.  "  None 
but  a  compatriot,"  his  Excellency  declared,  "  could  have  performed 
that  majestic  dance  in  such  a  way." 

Then  she  figured  in  a  waltz  with  Monsieur  de  Klingenspohr, 
the  Prince  of  Peterwaradin's  cousin  and  attach^.  The  delighted 
Prince,  having  less  retenue  than  his  French  diplomatic  colleague, 
insisted  on  taking  a  tiu-u  with  the_charming  creature,  and  twirled 


$ot  VANITY   FAIR 

round  the  ballroom  with  her,  scattering  the  diamonds  out  of  his 
boot-tassels  and  hussar-jacket  until  his  Highness  was  fairly  out  of 
breath.  Papoosh  Pasha  himself  would  have  liked  to  dance  with 
her  if  that  amusement  had  been  the  custom  of  his  country.  The 
company  made  a  circle  round  her,  and  applauded  as  wildly  as  if 
she  had  been  a  Noblet  or  a  Taglioni.  Everybody  was  in  ecstasy ; 
and  Becky  too,  you  may  be  sure.  She  passed  by  Lady  Stunnington 
with  a  look  of  scorn.  She  patronised  Lady  Gaunt  and  her  aston- 
ished and  mortified  sister-in-law — she  ^erased  all  rival  charmers. 
As  for  poor  Mrs.  Winkworth,  and  her  long  hair  and  great  eyes, 
wliich  had  made  such  an  effect  at  the  commencement  of  the 
evening;  where  was  she  now?  Nowhere  in  the  race.  She  might 
tear  her  long  hair  and  cry  her  great  eyes  out ;  but  there  was  not  a 
person  to  heed  or  to  deplore  the  discomfiture. 

The  greatest  triumph  of  all  was  at  supper-time.  She  was 
placed  at  the  grand  exclusive  table  with  His  Royal  Highness  the 
exalted  personage  before  mentioned,  and  the  rest  of  the  great  guests. 
She  was  served  on  gold  plate.  She  might  have  had  pearls  melted 
into  her  champagne  if  she  liked — another  Cleopatra;  and  the 
potentate  of  Peterwaradin  would  have  given  half  the  brilliants  off 
his  jacket  for  a  kind  glance  from  those  dazzling  eyes.  Jaboti^re 
wrote  home  about  her  to  his  government.  The  ladies  at  the  other 
tables,  who  supped  off  mere  silver,  and  marked  Lord  Steyne's  con- 
stant attention  to  her,  vowed  it  was  a  monstrous  infatuation,  a 
gross  insult  to  ladies  of  rank.  If  sarcasm  could  have  killed.  Lady 
Stunnington  would  have  slain  her  on  the  spot. 

Rawdon  Crawley  was  scared  at  these  triumphs.  They  seemed 
to  separate  his  wife  farther  than  ever  from  him  somehow.  He 
thought  with  a  feeling  very  like  pain  how  immeasurably  she  was 
his  superior. 

When  the  hour  of  departure  came,  a  crowd  of  young  men  fol- 
lowed her  to  her  carriage,  for  which  the  people  without  bawled,  the 
cry  being  caught  up  by  the  link-men  who  were  stationed  outside 
the  tall  gates  of  Gaunt  House,  congratulating  each  person  who 
issued  jfrom  the  gate  and  hoping  his  Lordship  had  enjoyed  this 
noble  party. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  carriage,  coming  up  to  the  gate  after 
due  shouting,  rattled  into  the  illuminated  courtyard,  and  drove  up 
to  the  covered  way.  Rawdon  put  his  wife  into  the  carriage,  which 
drove  off.  Mr.  Wenham  had  proposed  to  him  to  walk  home,  and 
offered  the  Colonel  the  refreshment  of  a  cigar. 

They  lighted  their  cigars  by  the  lamp  of  one  of  the  many  link- 
boys  outside,  and  Rawdon  walked  on  witli  his  friend  Wenham. 
Two  persons  separated  from  the  crowd  and  followed  tlie  two  gentle- 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  503 

men ;  and  when  they  had  walked  down  Gaunt  Square  a  few  score 
of  paces,  one  of  the  men  came  up,  and  touching  Rawdon  on  the 
shoulder,  said,  "  Beg  your  pardon,  Colonel,  I  vish  to  speak  to  you 
most  particular."  This  gentlemach's  acquaintance  gave  a  loud 
whistle  as  the  latter  spoke,  at  which  signal  a  cab  came  clattering 
up  from  those  stationed  at  the  Gate  of  Gaunt  House — and  the 
aide-de-camp  ran  round  and  placed  himself  in  front  of  Colonel 
Crawley. 

That  gallant  officer  at  once  knew  what  had  befallen  him.  He 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  bailiffs.  He  started  back,  falling  against 
the  man  who  had  first  touched  him. 

"  We're  three  on  us — it's  no  use  bolting,"  the  man  behind  said. 

"  It's  you.  Moss,  is  it  1 "  said  the  Colonel,  who  appeared  to  know 
his  interlocutor.     "  How  much  is  it  ? " 

"  Only  a  small  thing,"  whispered  Mr.  Moss,  of  Cursitor  Street, 
Chancery  Lane,  and  assistant  officer  to  the  Sheriff  of  Middlesex — 
"One  hundred  and  thirty-six,  six  and  eightpence,  at  the  suit  of 
Mr.  Nathan." 

"  Lend  me  a  hundred,  Wenham,  for  God's  sake,"  poor  Rawdon 
said — "  I've  got  seventy  at  home." 

"  I've  not  got  ten  pounds  in  the  world,"  said  poor  Mr.  Wenham — 
"  Good  night,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Good  night,"  said  Rawdon  ruefully.  And  Wenham  walked 
away — and  Rawdon  Crawley  finished  his  cigar  as  the  cab  drove 
under  Temple  Bar. 


CHAPTER  LII 

IN  WHICH  LORD  STEYNE  SHOWS  HIMSELF  IN  A  MOST 
AMIABLE  LIGHT 

WHEN  Lord  Steyne  was  benevolently  disposed,  he  did 
nothing  by  halves,  and  his  kindness  towards  the  Crawley 
family  did  the  greatest  honour  to  his  benevolent  dis- 
crimination. His  Lordship  extended  his  good-will  to  little  Rawdon : 
he  pointed  out  to  the  boy's  parents  the  necessity  of  sending  him  to 
a  public  school ;  that  he  was  of  an  age  now  when  emulation,  the 
first  principles  of  the  Latin  language,  pugilistic  exercises,  and  the 
society  of  his  fellow-boys  would  be  of  the  greatest  benefit  to  the 
boy.  His  father  objected  that  he  was  not  rich  enough  to  send  the 
child  to  a  good  public  school ;  his  mother,  that  Briggs  was  a  capital 
mistress  for  him,  and  had  brought  him  on  (as  indeed  was  the  fact) 
famously  in  English,  the  Latin  rudiments,  and  in  general  learning  : 
but  all  these  objections  disappeared  before  the  generous  perseverance 
of  the  Marquis  of  Steyne.  His  Lordship  was  one  of  the  governors 
of  that  famous  old  collegiate  institution  called  the  Whitefriars.  It 
had  been  a  Cistercian  Convent  in  old  days,  when  the  Smithfield, 
which  is  contiguous  to  it,  was  a  tournament  ground.  Obstinate 
heretics  used  to  be  brought  thither  convenient  for  burning  hard  by. 
Henry  VIII.,  the  Defender  of  the  Faith,  seized  upon  the  monastery 
and  its  possessions,  and  hanged  and  tortured  some  of  the  monks  who 
could  not  accommodate  themselves  to  the  pace  of  his  reform.  Finally, 
a  great  merchant  bought  the  house  and  land  adjoining,  in  which,  and 
with  the  help  of  other  wealthy  endowments  of  land  and  money,  he 
established  a  famous  foundation  hospital  for  old  men  and  children. 
An  extern  school  grew  round  the  old  almost  monastic  foundation, 
which  subsists  still  with  its  middle-age  costume  and  usages  ;  and  all 
Cistercians  pray  that  it  may  long  flourish. 

Of  this  famous  house,  some  of  the  greatest  noblemen,  prelates, 
and  dignitaries  in  England  are  governors  :  and  as  the  boys  are  very 
comfortably  lodged,  fed,  and  educated,  and  subsequently  inducted 
to  good  scholarships  at  the  University  and  livings  in  the  Church, 
many  little  gentlemen  are  devoted  to  the  ecclesiastical  profession 
frona  their  tenderest  years,  and  there  is  considerable  emulation  to 


/ 


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y 


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V\Ni 


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Mm^^\''\'\:^\ 


^yi'i^^- 


%  -^'^^  \ 


COLONKL   CRAWLKT    IS   WANTED. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  505 

procure  nominations  for  the  foundation.  It  was  originally  intended 
for  the  sons  of  poor  and  deserving  clerics  and  laics ;  but  many  of  the 
noble  governors  of  the  Institution,  with  an  enlarged  and  rather 
capricious  benevolence,  selected  all  s^rts  of  objects  for  their  bounty. 
To  get  an  education  for  nothing,  and  a  future  livelihood  and  profession 
assured,  was  so  excellent  a  scheme  that  some  of  the  richest  people  did 
not  disdain  it ;  and  not  only  great  men's  relations,  but  great  men  them- 
selves, sent  their  sons  to  profit  by  the  chance — Right  Rev.  Prelates 
sent  their  own  kinsmen  or  the  sons  of  their  clergy,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  some  great  noblemen  did  not  disdain  to  patronise  the  children 
of  their  confidential  servants, — so  that  a  lad  entering  this  establish- 
ment had  every  variety  of  youthful  society  wherewith  to  mingle. 

Rawdon  Crawley,  though  the  only  book  which  he  studied  was 
the  Racing  Calendar,  and  though  his  chief  recollections  of  polite 
learning  were  connected  with  the  floggings  which  he  received  at 
Eton  in  his  early  youth,  had  that  decent  and  honest  reverence  for 
classical  learning  which  all  English  gentlemen  feel,  and  was  glad  to 
think  that  his  son  was  to  have  a  provision  for  life,  perhaps,  and  a 
certain  opportunity  of  becoming  a  scholar.  And  although  his  boy 
was  his  chief  solace  and  companion,  and  endeared  to  him  by  a 
thousand  small  ties,  about  which  he  did  not  care  to  speak  to  his 
wife,  who  had  all  along  shown  the  utmost  indifference  to  their  son, 
yet  Rawdon  agreed  at  once  to  part  with  him,  and  to  give  up  his 
own  greatest  comfort  and  benefit  for  the  sake  of  the  welfare  of  the 
little  lad.  He  did  not  know  how  fond  he  was  of  the  child  until  it 
became  necessary  to  let  him  go  away.  When  he  was  gone,  he  felt 
more  sad  and  downcast  than  he  cared  to  own — far  sadder  than  the 
boy  himself,  who  was  happy  enough  to  enter  a  new  career,  and  find 
companions  of  his  own  age.  Becky  burst  out  laughing  once  or  twice, 
when  the  Colonel,  in  his  climisy,  incoherent  way,  tried  to  express 
his  sentimental  sorrows  at  the  boy's  departure.  The  poor  fellow 
felt  that  his  dearest  pleasure  and  closest  Mend  was  taken  from  him. 
He  looked  often  and  wistfully  at  the  little  vacant  bed  in  his  dressing- 
room,  where  the  child  used  to  sleep.  He  missed  him  sadly  of 
mornings,  and  tried  in  vain  to  walk  in  the  Park  without  him.  He 
did  not  know  how  solitary  he  was  until  little  Rawdon  was  gone. 
He  liked  the  people  who  were  fond  of  him ;  and  would  go  and  sit 
for  long  hours  with  his  good-natured  sister  Lady  Jane,  and  talk  to 
her  about  the  virtues,  and  good  looks,  and  hundred  good  qualities  of 
the  child. 

Young  Rawdon's  aunt,  we  have  said,  was  very  fond  of  him,  as 
was  her  little  girl,  who  wept  copiously  when  the  time  for  her  cousin's 
departure  came.  The  elder  Rawdon  waa  thankful  for  the  fondness 
of  mother  and  daughter.     The  very  best  and  honestest  feelings  of 


5o6  VANITY    FAIR 

the  man  came  out  in  these  artless  outpourings  of  paternal  feeling 
in  which  he  indulged  in  their  presence,  and  encouraged  by  their 
sympathy.  He  secured  not  only  Lady  Jane's  kindness,  but  her 
sincere  regard,  by  the  feelings  which  he  manifested,  and  which  he 
could  not  show  to  his  own  wife.  The  two  kinswomen  met  as  seldom 
as  possible.  Becky  laughed  bitterly  at  Jane's  feelings  and  softness ; 
the  other's  kindly  and  gentle  nature  could  not  but  revolt  at  her 
sister's  callous  behaviour, 
r"  It  estranged   Rawdon  from  his  wife  more  than  he  knew  or 

acknowledged  to  himself  She  did  not  care  for  the  estrangement. 
Indeed,  she  did  not  miss  him  or  anybody.  She  looked  upon  him 
as  her  errand-man  and  humble  slave.  He  might  be  ever  so  depressed 
or  sulky,  and  she  did  not  mark  his  demeanour,  or  only  treated  it 
with  a  sneer.  She  was  busy  thinking  about  her  position,  or  her 
pleasures,  or  her  advancement  in  society;  she  ought  to  have  held 
a  great  place  in  it,  that  is  certain. 

It  was  honest  Briggs  who  made  up  the  little  kit  for  the  boy 
which  he  was  to  take  to  school.  Molly,  the  housemaid,  blubbered^ 
in  the  passage  when  he  went  away — Molly  kind  and  faithful  in  spite 
of  a  long  arrear  of  unpaid  wages.  Mrs.  Becky  could  not  let  her 
husband  have  the  carriage  to  take  the  boy  to  school.  Take  the 
horses  into  the  City  ! — such  a  thing  was  never  heard  of  Let  a  cab 
be  brought.  She  did  not  offer  to  kiss  him  when  he  went :  nor  did 
the  child  propose  to  embrace  her :  but  gave  a  kiss  to  old  Briggs 
(whom,  in  general,  he  was  very  shy  of  caressing),  and  consoled  her 
by  pointing  out  that  he  was  to  come  home  on  Saturdays,  when  she 
would  have  the  benefit  of  seeing  him.  As  the  cab  rolled  towards 
the  City,  Becky's  carriage  rattled  off  to  the  Park.  She  was  chatter- 
ing and  laughing  with  a  score  of  young  dandies  by  the  Serpentine, 
as  the  father  and  son  entered  at  the  old  gates  of  the  school — where 
Rawdon  left  the  child,  and  came  away  with  a  sadder,  purer  feeling 
in  his  heart  than  perhaps  that  poor  battered  fellow  had  ever  known 
since  he  himself  came  out  of  the  nursery. 

He  walked  all  the  way  home  very  dismally,  and  dined  alone 
with  Briggs.  He  was  very  kind  to  her,  and  grateful  for  her  love 
and  watchfulness  over  the  boy.  His  conscience  smote  him  that  he 
had  borrowed  Briggs's  money,  and  aided  in  deceiving  her.  They 
talked  about  little  Rawdon  a  long  time,  for  Becky  only  came  home 
to  dress  and  go  out  to  dinner — and  then  he  went  off  uneasily  to 
drink  tea  with  Lady  Jane,  and  tell  her  of  what  had  happened,  and 
how  little  Rawdon  went  off  like  a  trump,  and  how  he  was  to  wear 
a  gown  and  little  knee-breeches,  and  how  young  Blackball,  Jack 
Blackball's  son,  of  the  old  regiment,  had  taken  him  in  charge  and 
promised  to  be  kind  to  him. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  507 

lu  the  course  of  a  week  young  Blackball  had  constituted  little 
Rawdon  his  fag,  shoeblack,  and  breakfast  toaster ;  initiated  him  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  Latin  Grammar,  and  thrashed  him  three  or  four 
times  ;  but  not  severely.  The  little  /Chap's  good-natured  honest  face 
won  his  way  for  him.  He  only  got  that  degree  of  beating  which 
was,  no  doubt,  good  for  him ;  and  as  for  blacking  shoes,  toasting 
bread,  and  fagging  in  general,  were  these  offices  not  deemed  to  be 
necessary  parts  of  every  young  English  gentleman's  education  1 

Our  business  does  not  lie  with  the  second  generation  and  Master 
Rawdon's  life  at  school,  otherwise  the  present  tale  might  be  carried 
to  any  indefinite  length.  The  Colonel  went  to  see  his  son  a  short 
time  afterwards,  and  found  the  lad  sufficiently  well  and  happy, 
grinning  and  laughing  in  his  little  black  gown  and  little  breeches. 

His  father  sagaciously  tipped  Blackball,  his  master,  a  sovereign, 
and  secured  that  young  gentleman's  good-will  towards  his  fag.  As 
a  prot^g^  of  the  great  Lord  Steyne,  the  nephew  of  a  County  member, 
and  son  of  a  Colonel  and  C.B.,  whose  name  appeared  in  some  of  the 
nost  fashionable  parties  in  the  Morning  Post,  perhaps  the  school 
authorities  were  disposed  not  to  look  unkindly  on  the  child.  He 
had  plenty  of  pocket-money,  which  he  spent  in  treating  his  comrades 
royally  to  raspberry  tarts,  and  he  was  often  allowed  to  come  home 
on  Saturdays  to  his  father,  who  always  made  a  jubilee  of  that  day. 
When  free,  Rawdon  would  take  him  to  the  play,  or  send  him  thither 
with  the  footman ;  and  on  Sundays  he  went  to  church  with  Briggs 
and  Lady  Jane  and  his  cousins.  Rawdon  marvelled  over  his  stories 
about  school,  and  fights,  and  fagging.  Before  long,  he  knew  the 
names  of  all  the  masters  and  the  principal  boys  as  well  as  little 
Rawdon  himself.  He  invited  little  Rawdon's  crony  from  school,  and 
made  both  the  children  sick  with  pastry,  and  oysters,  and  porter 
after  the  play.  He  tried  to  look  knowing  over  the  Latin  Grammar 
when  little  Rawdon  showed  him  what  part  of  that  work  he  was 
"  in."  "  Stick  to  it,  my  boy,"  he  said  to  him  with  much  gravity, 
"  there's  nothing  like  a  good  classical  education  !  nothing  !  " 

Becky's  contempt  for  her  husband  grew  greater  every  day.  v^ 
"  Do  what  you  like, — dine  where  you  please, — go  and  have  ginger- 
beer  and  sawdust  at  Astley's,  or  psalm-singing  with  Lady  Jane, — 
only  don't  expect  me  to  busy  myself  with  the  boy.  I  have  your 
interests  to  attend  to,  as  you  can't  attend  to  them  yourself.  I 
should  like  to  know  where  you  would  have  been  now,  and  in  what 
sort  of  a  position  in  society,  if  I  had  not  looked  after  you  1 "  Indeed, 
nobody  wanted  poor  old  Rawdon  at  the  parties  whither  Becky  used 
to  go.  She  was  often  asked  without  him  now.  She  talked  about 
>ireat  people  as  if  she  had  the  fee-simple  of  May  Fair ;  and  when 
the  Court  went  into  mourning,  she  always  wore  black. 


5o8  VANITY    FAIR 

Little  Rawdon  being  disposed  of,  Lord  Steyne,  who  took  such  a 
parental  interest  in  the  affairs  of  this  amiable  poor  family,  thought 
that  their  expenses  might  be  very  advantageously  curtailed  by  the 
departure  of  Miss  Briggs ;  and  that  Becky  was  quite  clever  enough 
to  take  the  management  of  her  own  house.  It  has  been  narrated  in 
a  former  chapter,  how  the  benevolent  nobleman  had  given  his 
prot^gde  money  to  pay  off  her  little  debt  to  Miss  Briggs,  who  how- 
ever still  remained  behind  vrith  her  friends ;  whence  my  lord  came 
to  the  painful  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Crawley  had  made  some  other 
use  of  the  money  confided  to  her  than  that  for  which  her  generous 
patron  had  given  the  loan.  However,  Lord  Steyne  was  not  so  rude 
as  to  impart  his  suspicions  upon  this  head  to  Mrs.  Becky,  whose 
feelings  might  be  hurt  by  any  controversy  on  the  money-question, 
and  who  might  have  a  thousand  painful  reasons  for  disposing  other- 
wise of  his  Lordship's  generous  loan.  But  he  determined  to  satisfy 
himself  of  the  real  state  of  the  case :  and  instituted  the  necessary 
inquiries  in  a  most  cautious  and  delicate  manner. 

In  the  first  place  he  took  an  early  opportunity  of  pumping  Miss 
Briggs.  That  was  not  a  difficult  operation.  A  very  little  encour- 
agement would  set  that  worthy  woman  to  talk  volubly,  and  pour 
out  all  within  her.  And  one  day  when  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  gone  out 
to  drive  (as  Mr.  Fiche,  his  Lordship's  confidential  servant,  easily 
learned  at  the  livery  stables  where  the  Crawleys  kept  their  carriage 
and  horses,  or  rather,  where  the  livery-man  kept  a  carriage  and 
horses  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crawley) — my  lord  dropped  in  upon  the 
Curzon  Street  house — asked  Briggs  for  a  cup  of  coffee — told  her  that 
he  had  good  accounts  of  the  little  boy  at  school — and  in  five  minutes 
found  out  from  her  that  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  given  her  nothing  except  a 
black  silk  gown,  for  which  Miss  Briggs  was  immensely  grateful. 

He  laughed  within  himself  at  this  artless  story.  For  the  truth 
is,  our  dear  friend  Rebecca  had  given  him  a  most  circumstantial  nar- 
ration of  Briggs's  delight  at  receiving  her  money — eleven  hundred 
and  twenty-five  pounds — and  in  what  securities  she  had  invested  it ; 
and  what  a  pang  Becky  herself  felt  in  being  obliged  to  pay  away 
such  a  delightful  sum  of  money.  "  Who  knows,"  the  dear  woman 
may  have  thought  within  herself,  "  perhaps  he  may  give  me  a  little 
more?"  My  lord,  however,  made  no  such  proposal  to  the  little  schemer 
— very  likely  thinking  that  he  had  been  sufficiently  generous  already. 

He  had  the  curiosity,  then,  to  ask  Miss  Briggs  about  the  state 
of  her  private  affairs — and  she  told  his  Lordship  candidly  what  her 
position  was — how  Miss  Crawley  had  left  her  a  legacy — how  her 
relatives  had  had  part  of  it — how  Colonel  Crawley  had  put  out 
another  portion,  for  which  she  had  the  best  security  and  interest — 
and  how  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  kindly  busied  themselves  with 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  509 

Sir  Pitt,  who  was  to  dispose  of  the  remainder  most  advantageously 
for  her,  when  he  had  time.  My  lord  asked  how  much  the  Colonel 
had  already  invested  for  her,  and  Miss  Briggs  at  once  and  truly  told 
him  that  the  sum  was  six  hundred  and  odd  pounds. 

But  as  soon  as  she  had  told  her  story,  the  voluble  Briggs  repented 
of  her  frankness,  and  besought  my  lord  not  to  tell  Mr.  Crawley  of 
the  confessions  which  she  had  made.  "  The  Colonel  was  so  kind- 
Mr.  Crawley  might  be  offended  and  pay  back  the  money,  for  which 
she  could  get  no  such  good  interest  anywhere  else."  Lord  Steyne, 
laughing,  promised  he  never  would  divulge  their  conversation,  and 
when  he  and  Miss  Briggs  parted  he  laughed  still  more. 

"  What  an  accomplished  little  devil  it  is  !  "  thought  he.  "  What 
a  splendid  actress  and  manager !  She  had  almost  got  a  second 
supply  out  of  me  the  other  day,  with  her  coaxing  ways.  She  beats 
all  the  women  I  have  ever  seen  in  the  course  of  all  my  well-spent 
life.  They  are  babies  compared  to  her.  I  am  a  greenhorn  myself, 
and  a  fool  in  her  hands — an  old  fool.  She  is  unsurpassable  in  lies." 
His  Lordship's  admiration  for  Becky  rose  immeasurably  at  this  proof  V^ 
of  her  cleverness.  Getting  the  money  was  nothing — but  getting 
double  the  sum  she  wanted,  and  paying  nobody — it  was  a  magnifi- 
cent stroke.  And  Crawley,  my  lord  thought — Crawley  is  not  such 
a  fool  as  he  looks  and  seems.  He  has  managed  the  matter  cleverly 
enough  on  his  side.  Nobody  would  ever  have  supposed  from  his 
face  and  demeanour  that  he  knew  anything  about  this  money  busi- 
ness; and  yet  he  put  her  up  to  it,  and  has  spent  the  money,  no 
doubt.  In  this  opinion  my  lord,  we  know,  was  mistaken ;  but  it 
influenced  a  good  deal  his  behaviour  towards  Colonel  Crawley,  whom 
he  began  to  treat  with  even  less  than  that  semblance  of  respect 
which  he  had  formerly  shown  towards  that  gentleman.  It  never 
entered  into  the  head  of  Mrs.  Crawley's  patron  that  the  little  lady 
might  be  inaking  a  purae-.for  berself :  and,  perhaps,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  he  judged  of  Colonel  Crawley  by  his  experience  of 
other  husbands,  whom  he  had  known  in  the  course  of  the  long  and 
well-spent  life  which  had  made  him  acquainted  with  a  great  deal  of 
the  weakness  of  mankind.  My  lord  had  bought  so. many  men- during  1 
his  life,  that  he  was  surely  to  be  pardoned  for  supposing  that  he  \ 
had  fbundthe  price  of  this  one. 

He  taxeTTJecky  upon  tlTe  point  on  the  very  first  occasion  when 
he  met  her  alone,  and  he  complimented  her,  good-humouredly,  on 
her  cleverness  in  getting  more  than  the  money  which  she  required. 
Becky  was  only  a  little  taken  aback.  .  It  was  not  the  habit  of  this 
dear  creature  to  tell  falsehoods,  except  when  necessity  compelled, 
but  in  these  great  emergencies  it  was  her  practice  to  lie  very  freely ; 
and  in  an  instant  she  was  ready  with  another  neat  plausible  circum- 


^16  VANITY    FAIR 

stantial  story  which  she  administered  to  her  patron.  The  previous 
statement  which  she  had  made  to  him  was  a  falsehood — a  wicked 
falsehood  :  she  owned  it ;  but  who  had  made  her  tell  it  ?  "  Ah,  my 
Lord,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  know  all  I  have  to  suffer  and  bear  in 
silence :  you  see  me  gay  and  happy  before  you — you  little  know 
what  I  have  to  endure  when  there  is  no  protector  near  me.  It  was 
my  husband,  by  threats  and  the  most  savage  treatment,  forced  me 
to  ask  for  that  sum  about  which  I  deceived  you.  It  was  he,  who, 
foreseeing  that  questions  might  be  asked  regarding  the  disposal  of 
the  money,  forced  me  to  account  for  it  as  I  did.  He  took  the 
money.  He  told  me  he  had  paid  Miss  Briggs ;  I  did  not  want,  I 
did  not  dare  to  doubt  him.  Pardon  the  wrong  which  a  desperate 
man  is  forced  to  commit,  and  pity  a  miserable,  miserable  woman." 
She  burst  into  tears  as  she  spoke.  Persecuted  virtue  never  looked 
more  bewitchingly  wretched. 

They  had  a  long  conversation,  driving  round  and  round  the 
Regent's  Park  in  Mrs.  Crawley's  carriage  together,  a  conversation  of 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  repeat  the  details  :  but  the  upshot  of  it 
was,  that,  when  Becky  came  home,  she  flew  to  her  dear  Briggs  with 
a  smiling  face,  and  announced  that  she  had  some  very  good  news  for 
her.  Lord  Steyne  had  acted  in  the  noblest  and  most  generous 
manner.  He  was  always  thinking  how  and  when  he  could  do  good. 
Now  that  little  Rawdon  was  gone  to  school,  a  dear  companion  and 
friend  was  no  longer  necessary  to  her.  She  was  grieved  beyond 
measure  to  part  with  Briggs;  but  her  means  required  that  she 
should  practise  every  retrenchment,  and  her  sorrow  was  mitigated 
by  the  idea  that  her  dear  Briggs  would  be  far  better  provided  for 
by  her  generous  patron  than  in  her  humble  home.  Mrs.  Pilkington, 
the  housekeeper  at  Gauntly  Hall,  was  growing  exceedingly  old, 
feeble,  and  rheumatic :  she  was  not  equal  to  the  work  of  superin- 
tending that  vast  mansion,  and  must  be  on  the  look-out  for  a 
successor.  It  was  a  splendid  position.  The  family  did  not  go  to 
Gauntly  once  in  two  years.  At  other  times  the  housekeeper  was 
the  mistress  of  the  magnificent  mansion — had  four  covers  daily  for 
her  table ;  was  visited  by  the  clergy  and  the  most  respectable  people 
of  the  county — was  the  lady  of  Gauntly,  in  fact ;  and  the  two  last 
housekeepers  before  Mrs.  Pilkington  had  married  rectors  of  Gauntly : 
but  Mrs.  P.  could  not,  being  the  aunt  of  the  present  Rector.  The 
place  was  not  to  be  hers  yet ;  but  she  might  go  down  on  a  visit  to 
Mrs.  Pilkington,  and  see  whether  she  would  like  to  succeed  her. 

What  words  can  paint  the  ecstatic  gratitude  of  Briggs  !  All  she 
stipulated  for  was  that  little  Rawdon  should  be  allowed  to  come  down 
and  see  her  at  the  Hall.  Becky  promised  this — anything.  She  ran 
up  to  her  husband  when  he  came  home,  and  told  him  the  joyful  news. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HBHO  511 

Rawdon  was  glad,  deuced  glad ;  the  weight  was  off  his  conscience 
about  poor  Briggs's  money.     She  was  provided  for,  at  any  rate,  but 
— but  his  mind  was  disquiet.     He  did  not  seem  to  be  all  right  some- 
how.    He  told  little  Southdown  whjft  Lord  Steyne  had  done,  and  the"! 
young  man  eyed  Crawley  with  an  air  which  surprised  the  latter.       J 

He  told  Lady  Jane  of  this  second  proof  of  Steyne's  bounty,  and 
she,  too,  looked  odd  and  alarmed ;  so  did  Sir  Pitt.  "  She  is  too 
clever  and — and  gay  to  be  allowed  to  go  from  party  to  party  with- 
out a  companion,"  both  said.  "You  must  go  with  her,  Rawdon, 
wherever  she  goes,  and  you  must  have  somebody  with  her — one  of 
the  girls  from  Queen's  Crawley,  perhaps,  though  they  were  rather 
giddy  guardians  for  her.". 

Somebody  Becky  should  have.     But  in  the  meantime  it  was 
clear  that  honest  Briggs  must  not  lose  her  chance  of  settlement  for 
life ;  and  so  she  and  her  bags  were  packed,  and  she  set  off  on  her 
journey.     And  so  two  of  Rawdon's  out-sentinels  were  in  the  hands     T  ^  "^-^ 
of  the  enemy. 

Sir  Pitt  went  and  expostulated  with  his  sister-in-law  upon  the 
subject  of  the  dismissal  of  Briggs,  and  other  matters  of  delicate 
family  interest.  In  vain  she  pointed  out  to  him  how  necessary  was 
the  protection  of  Lord  Steyne  for  her  poor  husband ;  how  cruel  it 
would  be  on  their  part  to  deprive  Briggs  of  the  position  offered  to 
her.  Cajolements,  coaxings,  smiles,  tears  could  not  satisfy  Sir  Pitt, 
and  he  had  something  very  like  a  quarrel  with  his  once  admired 
Becky.  He  spoke  of  the  honour  of  the  family  :  the  unsullied  repu- 
tation of  the  Crawleys ;  expressed  himself  in  indignant  tones  about 
her  receiving  those  young  Frenchmen — those  wild  young  men  of 
fashion,  my  Lord  Steyne  himself,  whose  carriage  was  always  at  her 
door,  who  passed  hours  daily  in  her  company,  and  whose  constant 
presence  made  the  world  talk  about  her.  As  the  head  of  the  house 
he  implored  her  to  be  more  prudent.  Society  was  already  speaking 
lightly  of  her.  Lord  Steyne,  though  a  nobleman  of  the  greatest 
station  and  talents  was  a  man  whose  attentions  would  compromise 
any  woman ;  he  besought,  he  implored,  he  commanded  his  sister-in- 
law  to  be  watchful  in  her  intercourse  with  that  nobleman. 

Becky  promised  anything  and  everything  Pitt  wanted ;  but  Lord 
Steyne  came  to  her  house  as  often  as  ever,  and  Sir  Pitt's  anger  in 
creased.  I  wonder  was  Lady  Jane  angry  or  pleased  that  her  husband  ^ 
at  last  found  fault  with  his  favourite  Rebecca  1  Lord  Steyne's  visits 
continuing,  his  own  ceased ;  and  his  wife  was  for  refusing  all  further 
intercourse  with  that  nobleman,  and  declining  the  invitation  to  the 
Charade-night  which  the  Marchioness  sent  to  her;  but  Sir  Pitt 
thought  it  was  necessary  to  accept  it,  as  His  Royal  Highness  would 
be  there. 
U 


"^J  512  VANITY    FAIR 

Although  he  went  to  the  party  in  question,  Sir  Pitt  quitted  it 
very  early,  and  his  wife,  too,  was  very  glad  to  come  away.  Becky 
hardly  so  much  as  spoke  to  him  or  noticed  her  sister-in-law.  Pitt 
Crawley  declared  her  behaviour  was  monstrously  indecorous,  repro- 
bated in  strong  terms  the  habit  of  play-acting  and  fancy  dressing, 
as  highly  unbecoming  a  British  female ;  and  after  the  charades  were 
over,  took  his  brother  Rawdon  severely  to  task  for  appearing  him- 
self, and  allowing  his  wife  to  join  in  such  improper  exhibitions. 

Rawdon  said  she  should  not  join  in  any  more  such  amusements  : 
but  indeed,  and  perhaps  from  hints  from  his  elder  brother  and 
sister,  he  had  already  become  a  very  watchful  and  exemplary 
domestic  character.  He  left  off  his  clubs  and  billiards.  He  never 
left  home.  He  took  Becky  out  to  drive  :  he  went  laboriously  with 
her  to  all  her  parties.  Whenever  my  Lord  Steyne  called,  he  was 
sure  to  find  the  Colonel.  And  when  Becky  proposed  to  go  out  with- 
out her  husband,  or  received  invitations  for  herself,  he  peremptorily 
ordered  her  to  refuse  them ;  and  there  was  that  in  the  gentleman's 

<^  manner  which  enforced  obedience.     Little  Becky,  to  do  her  justice, 
)  was  charmed  with  Rawdon's  gallantry.     If  he  was  surly,  she  never 

^   was.      Whether  friends  were  present  or  absent,  she  had  always  a 

I    kind  smile  for  him,  and  was  attentive  to  his  pleasure  and  comfort. 

{  It  was  the  early  days  of  their  marriage  over  again  :  the  same  good- 
humour,  prevenances^  merriment,  and  artless  confidence  and  regard. 
"  How  much  pleasanter  it  is,"  she  would  say,  "  to  have  you  by  my 
side  in  the  carriage  than  that  foolish  old  Briggs  !  Let  us  always  go 
on  so,  dear  Rawdon.  How  nice  it  would  be,  and  how  happy  we 
should  always  be,  if  we  had  but  the  money  !  He  fell  asleep  after 
^o  dinner  in  his  chair  ;  he  did  not  see  the  face  opposite  to  him,  haggardj^ 
_^-^  k"  weary,  and  terrible.;  it  lighted  up  with  fresh  candid  smiles  when  he 
woke.  It  kissed  him  gaily.  He  wondered  that  he  had  ever  had 
suspicions.  No,  he  never  had  suspicions ;  all  those  dumb  doubts 
and  surly  misgivings  which  had  been  gathering  on  his  mind,  were 
mere  idle  jealousies.  She  was  fond  of  him ;  she  always  had  been. 
As  for  her  shining  in  society,  it  was  no  fault  of  hers  ;  she  was  formed 
to  shine  there.  Was  there  any  woman  who  could  talk,  or  sing,  or 
do  anything  like  her  %  If  she  would  but  like  the  boy  !  Rawdon 
thought.  But  the  mother  and  son  never  could  be  brought  together. 
And  it  was  while  Rawdon's  mind  was  agitated  with  these  doubts 
'and  perplexities  that  the  incident  occurred  which  was  mentioned 
in  the  last  chapter;  and  the  unfortunate  Colonel  found  himself  a 
prisoner  away  from  home. 


^ 


CHAPTER   LIII 
A  RESCUE  AND  A  CATASTROPHE 

FRIEND  RAWDON  drove  on  then  to  Mr.  Moes's  mansion  in 
Cursitor  Street,  and  was  duly  inducted  into  that  dismal  place 
of  hospitality.  Morning  was  breaking  over  the  cheerful 
housetops  of  Chancery  Lane  as  the  rattling  cab  woke  up  the  echoes 
there.  A  little  pink-eyed  Jew-boy,  with  a  head  as  ruddy  as  the 
rising  morn,  let  the  party  into  the  house,  and  Rawdon  was  welcomed 
to  the  ground-floor  apartments  by  Mr.  Moss,  his  travelling  companion 
and  host,  who  cheerfully  asked  him  if  he  would  like  a  glass  of  some- 
thing warm  after  his  drive. 

The  Colonel  was  not  so  depressed  as  some  mortals  would  be, 
who,  quitting  a  palace  and  a  placens  uxor,  find  themselves  barred 
into  a  spunging-house ;  for,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  had  been  a 
lodger  at  Mr.  Moss's  establishment  once  or  twice  before.  We  have 
not  thought  it  necessary  in  the  previous  course  of  this  narrative  to 
mention  these  trivial  little  domestic  mcidents :  but  the  reader  may 
be  assured  that  they  can't  unfrequently  occur  in  the  life  of  a  man 
who  lives  on  nothing  a  year. 

Upon  his  first  visit  to  Mr.  Moss,  the  Colonel,  then  a  bachelor, 
had  been  liberated  by  the  generosity  of  his  Aunt;  on  the  second 
mishap,  little  Becky,  with  the  greatest  spirit  and  kindness,  had 
borrowed  a  sum  of  money  fi-om  Lord  Southdown,  and  had  coaxed 
her  husband's  creditor  (who  was  her  shawl,  velvet-gown,  lace  pocket- 
handkerchief,  trinket,  and  gimcrack  purveyor,  indeed)  to  take  a 
portion  of  the  sum  claimed,  and  Rawdon's  promissory  note  for  the 
remainder :  so  on  both  these  occasions  the  capture  and  release  had 
been  conducted  with  the  utmost  gallantry  on  all  sides,  and  Moss 
and  the  Colonel  were  therefore  on  the  very  best  of  terms. 

"  You'll  find  your  old  bed,  Colonel,  and  everything  comfortable," 
that  gentleman  said,  "  as  I  may  honestly  say.  You  may  be  pretty 
sure  it's  kep  aired,  and  by  the  best  of  company,  too.  It  was  slep 
in  the  night  afore  last  by  the  Honourable  Capting  Famish,  of  the 
Fiftieth  Dmgoons,  whose  Mar  took  him  out,  after  a  fortnight,  jest 
to  punish  him,  she  said.  But,  Law  bless  you,  I  promise  you,  he 
punished  my  champagne,  and  had  a  party  'ere  every  night— -reglar 


514  VANITY    FAIR 

tip-top  swells,  down  from. the  clubs  and  the  West  End — Capting 
Ragg,  the  Honourable  Deuceace,  who  lives  in  the  Temple,  and  some 
fellers  as  knows  a  good  glass  of  wine,  I  warrant  you.  I've  got  a 
Doctor  of  Diwinity  upstairs,  five  gents  in  the  Coffee-room,  and  Mrs, 
Moss  has  a  tably-dy-hoty  at  half-past  five,  and  a  little  cards  or 
music  afterwards,  when  we  shall  be  most  happy  to  see  you." 

"I'll  ring  when  I  want  anything,"  said  Rawdon,  and  went 
quietly  to  his  bedroom.  He  was  an  old  soldier,  we  have  said,  and 
not  to  be  disturbed  by  any  little  shocks  of  fate.  A  weaker  man 
would  have  sent  off  a  letter  to  his  wife  on  the  instant  of  his  capture. 
"  But  what  is  the  use  of  disturbing  her  night's  rest  1 "  thought 
Rawdon.  "  She  won't  know  whether  I  am  in  my  room  or  not.  It 
will  be  time  enough  to  write  to  her  when  she  has  had  her  sleep  out, 
and  I  have  had  mine.  It's  only  a  hundred-and-seventy,  and  the 
deuce  is  in  it  if  we  can't  raise  that."  And  so,  thinking  about  little 
Rawdon  (whom  he  would  not  have  know  that  he  was  in  such  a 
queer  place),  the  Colonel  turned  into  the  bed  lately  occupied  by 
Captain  Famish,  and  fell  asleep.  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  woke 
up,  and  the  ruddy-headed  youth  brought  him,  with  conscious  pride, 
a  fine  silver  dressing-case,  wherewith  he  might  perform  the  operation 
of  shaving.  Indeed  Mr.  Moss's  house,  though  somewhat  dirty,  was 
splendid  throughout.  There  were  dirty  trays,  and  wine-coolers  en 
permanence  on  the  sideboard,  huge  dirty  gilt  cornices,  with  dingy 
yellow  satin  hangings  to  the  barred  windows  which  looked  into 
Cursitor  Street — vast  and  dirty  gilt  picture-frames  surrounding 
pieces  sporting  and  sacred,  all  of  which  works  were  by  the  greatest 
masters  ;  and  fetched  the  greatest  prices,  too,  in  the  bill  transactions, 
in  the  course  of  which  they  were  sold  and  bought  over  and  over 
again.  The  Colonel's  breakfast  was  served  to  him  in  the  same 
dingy  and  gorgeous  plated  ware.  Miss  Moss,  a  dark-eyed  maid  in 
curl-papers,  appeared  with  the  teapot,  ?nd,  smiling,  asked  the  Colonel 
how  he  had  slep  ?  and  she  brought  h'  i  in  the  Morning  Post,  with 
the  names  of  all  the  great  people  who  had  figured  at  Lord  Steyne's 
entertainment  the  night  before.  It  contained  a  brilliant  account  of 
the  festivities,  and  of  the  beautiful  and  accompHshed  Mrs.  Rawdon 
Crawley's  admirable  personifications. 

After  a  lively  chat  with  this  lady  (who  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
breakfast  table  in  an  easy  attitude  displaying  the  drapery  of  her 
stocking  and  an  ex-white  satin  shoe,  which  was  down  at  heel), 
Colonel  Crawley  called  for  pens  and  ink,  and  paper;  and  being 
asked  how  many  sheets,  chose  one  which  was  brought  to  him 
between  Miss  Moss's  own  finger  and  thumb.  Many  a  sheet  had 
that  dark-eyed  damsel  brought  in ;  many  a  poor  fellow  had  scrawled 
md  blotted  hurried  lines  of  entreaty,  and  paced  up  and  down  that 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  515 

awful  room  until  his  messenger  brought  back  the  reply.  Poor  men 
always  use  messengers  instead  of  the  post.  Who  has  not  had  their 
letters,  with  the  wafers  wet,  and  the  announcement  that  a  person  is 
waiting  in  the  hall  ?  f^ 

Now  on  the  score  of  his  application,  Rawdon  had  not  many 
misgivings. 

"Dear  Becky  (Rawdon  wrote), — /  h(ype  you  slept  %vell. 
Don't  be  frightened  if  I  don't  bring  you  in  your  coffy.  Last  night 
as  I  was  coming  home  smoaking,  I  met  with  an  accadent.  I  was 
nabbed  by  Moss  of  Cursitor  Street — from  whose  gilt  and  splendid 
parler  I  write  this — the  same  that  had  me  this  time  two  years. 
Miss  Moss  brought  in  my  tea — she  is  grown  very  fat^  and,  as  usual, 
had  her  stockens  down  at  heal. 

"It's  Nathan's  business  —  a  hundred -and -fifty — with  costs, 
hundred-and-seventy.  Please  send  me  my  desk  and  some  cloths — 
I'm  in  pumps  and  a  white  tye  (something  like  Miss  M.'s  stockings) 
— I've  seventy  in  it.  And  as  soon  as  you  get  this,  Drive  to 
Nathan's — offer  him  seventy-five  down,  and  ask  him  to  renew — say 
I'll  take  wine — we  may  as  well  have  some  dinner  sherry ;  but  not 
picturs,  they're  too  dear. 

"  If  he  won't  stand  it.  Take  my  ticker  and  such  of  your  things 
as  you  can  spare,  and  send  them  to  Balls— we  must,  of  coarse,  have 
the  sum  to-night.  It  won't  do  to  let  it  stand  over,  as  to-morrow's 
Sunday ;  the  beds  here  are  not  very  clean,  and  there  may  be  other 
things  out  against  me— I'm  glad  it  an't  Rawdon's  Saturday  for 
coming  home.     God  bless  you. — Yours  in  haste, 

"R.  C. 

"F.S. — Make  haste  and  come." 

This  letter,  sealed  with  a  wafer,  was  despatched  by  one  of  the 
messengers  who  are  always  hanging  about  Mr.  Moss's  establishment ; 
and  Rawdon,  having  seen  him  depart,  went  out  in  the  courtyard, 
and  smoked  his  cigar  with  a  tolerably  easy  mind — in  spite  of  the 
bars  overhead ;  for  Mr.  Moss's  courtyard  is  railed  in  like  a  cage, 
lest  the  gentlemen  who  are  boarding  with  him  should  take  a  fancy 
to  escape  from  his  hospitality. 

Three  hours,  he  calculated,  would  be  the  utmost  time  required, 
before  Becky  should  arrive  and  open  his  prison  doors  :  and  he  passed 
these  pretty  cheerfully  in  smoking,  in  reading  the  paper,  and  in  the 
coffee-room  with  an  acquaintance.  Captain  Walker,  who  happened 
to  be  there,  and  with  whom  he  cut  for  sixpences  for  some  hours, 
with  pretty  equal  luck  on  either  side. 

But   the   day  passed   away  and  no   messenger   returned, — no 


5i6  VANITY    FAIR 

Becky.  Mrs.  Moss's  tably-dy-hoty  was  served  at  the  appointed 
hour  of  half-past  five,  when  such  of  the  gentlemen  lodging  in  the 
house  as  could  afford  to  pay  for  the  banquet,  came  and  partook  of 
it  in  the  splendid  front  parlour  before  described,  and  with  which 
Mr.  Crawley's  temporary  lodging  communicated,  when  Miss  M. 
(Miss  Hem,  as  her  papa  called  her),  appeared  without  the  curl- 
papers of  the  morning,  and  Mrs.  Hem  did  the  honours  of  a  prime 
boiled  leg  of  mutton  and  turnips,  of  which  the  Colonel  ate  with  a 
very  faint  appetite.  Asked  whether  he  would  "stand"  a  bottle 
of  champagne  for  the  company,  he  consented,  and  the  ladies  drank 
to  his  'ealth,  and  Mr.  Moss,  in  the  most  polite  manner,  "looked 
towards  him." 

In  the  midst  of  this  repast,  however,  the  door-bell  was  heard — 
young  Moss  of  the  ruddy  hair  rose  up  with  the  keys  and  answered 
the  summons,  and  coming  back,  told  the  Colonel  that  the  messenger 
had  returned  with  a  bag,  a  desk,  and  a  letter,  which  he  gave  him. 
"  No  ceramony.  Colonel,  I  beg,"  said  Mrs.  Moss  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand,  and  he  opened  the  letter  rather  tremulously. — It  was  a 
beautiful  letter,  highly  scented,  on  a  pink  paper,  and  with  a  light 
green  seal. 

"MoN  PAUVEE  CHER  PETIT  (Mrs.  Crawlcy  wrote), — I  could 
not  sleep  one  wink  for  thinking  of  what  had  become  of  my  odious 
old  monstre :  and  only  got  to  rest  in  the  morning  after  sending 
for  Mr.  Blench  (for  I  was  in  a  fever),  who  gave  me  a  composing 
draught  and  left  orders  with  Finette  that  I  should  be  disturbed 
on  no  account.  So  that  my  poor  old  man's  messenger,  who  had 
bien  mauvaise  mine  Finette  says,  and  sentoit  le  genievre,  remained 
in  the  hall  for  some  hours  waiting  my  bell.  You  may  fancy  my 
state  when  I  read  your  poor  dear  old  ill-spelt  letter. 

"  111  as  I  was,  I  instantly  called  for  the  carriage,  and  as  soon  as 
I  was  dressed  (though  I  couldn't  drink  a  drop  of  chocolate—I  assure 
you  I  couldn't  without  my  monstre  to  bring  it  to  me),  I  drove 
ventre  a  terre  to  Nathan's.  I  saw  him — I  wept— I  cried — -I  fell 
at  his  odious  knees.  Nothing  would  mollify  the  horrid  man.  He 
would  have  all  the  money,  he  said,  or  keep  my  poor  monstre  in 
prison.  I  drove  home  with  the  intention  of  paying  that  triste  visite 
chez  mon  oncle  (when  every  trinket  I  have  should  be  at  your 
disposal  though  they  would  not  fetch  a  hundred  pounds,  for  some, 
you  know,  are  with  ce  cher  oncle  already),  and  found  Milor  there 
with  the  Bulgarian  old  sheep-faced  monster,  who  had  come  to 
compliment  me  upon  last  night's  performances.  Paddington  came 
in,  too,  drawling  and  lisping  and  twiddling  his  hair  ;  so  did 
Champignac,  and  his  chef — everybody  with  foison  of  compliments 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  517 

and  pretty  speeches — plaguing  poor  me,  who  longed  to  be  rid  of 
them,  and  was  thinking  every  moment  of  the  time  of  mon  pauvre 
prisonnier. 

"  When  they  were  gone,  I  wen^k"  down  on  my  knees  to  Milor ; 
told  him  we  were  going  to  pawn  everything,  and  begged  and  prayed 
him  to  give  me  two  hundred  pounds.  He  pish'd  and  psha'd  in  a 
fury — told  me  not  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  pawn— and  said  he  would 
see  whether  he  could  lend  me  the  money.  At  last  he  went  away, 
promising  that  he  would  send  it  me  in  the  morning  :  when  I  will 
bring  it  to  my  poor  old  monster  with  a  kiss  from  his  affectionate 

"  Becky. 

"  I  am  writing  in  bed.  Oh,  I  have  such  a  headache  and  such  a 
heartache ! " 

When  Rawdon  read  over  this  letter,  he  turned  so  red  and 
looked  so  savage,  that  the  company  at  the  table  d'hote  easily  per- 
ceived that  bad  news  had  reached  him.  All  his  suspicions,  which 
he  had  been  trying  to  banish,  returned  upon  him.  She  could  not 
even  go  out  and  sell  her  trinkets  to  free  him.  She  could  laugh  and 
talk  about  compliments  paid  to  her,  whilst  he  was  in  prison. 
Who  had  put  him  there  ?  Wenham  had  walked  with  him.  Was 
there  .  .  .  He  could  hardly  bear  to  think  of  what  he  suspected. 
Leaving  the  room  humedly,  he  ran  into  his  own — opened  his  desk, 
wrote  two  hurried  lines,  which  he  directed  to  Sir  Pitt  or  Lady 
Crawley,  and  bade  the  messenger  carry  them  at  once  to  Gaunt 
Street,  bidding  him  to  take  a  cab,  and  promising  him  a  guinea  if  he 
was  back  in  an  hour. 

In  the  note  he  besought  his  dear  brother  and  sister,  for  the  sake 
of  God ;  for  the  sake  of  his  dear  child  and  his  honour ;  to  come  to 
him  and  relieve  him  from  his  diificulty.  He  was  in  prison :  he 
wanted  a  hundred  pounds  to  set  him  free — he  entreated  them  to 
come  to  him. 

He  went  back  to  the  dining  -  room  after  despatching  his 
messenger,  and  called  for  more  wine.  He  laughed  and  talked  with 
a  strange  boisterousness,  as  the  people  thought.  Sometimes  he 
laughed  madly  at  his  own  fears,  and  went  on  drinking  for  an  hour ; 
listening  all  the  while  for  the  carriage  which  was  to  bring  his 
fate  back. 

At  the  expiration  of  that  time,  wheels  were  heard  whirling  uj) 
to  the  gate — the  young  Janitor  went  out  with  his  gate-keys.  It 
waa  a  lady  whom  he  let  in  at  the  baiHffs  door. 

"  Colonel  Crawley,"  she  said,  trembling  very  much.  He,  with 
a  knowing  look,  locked  the  outer  door  upon  her — then  unlocked  and 


5i8  VANITY    FAIR 

opened  the  inner  one,  and  calling  out,  "  Colonel,  you're  wanted," 
led  her  into  the  back  parlour,  which  he  occupied. 

Rawdon  came  in  from  the  dining-parlour  where  all  those  people 
were  carousing,  into  his  back  room ;  a  flare  of  coarse  light  following 
him  into  the  apartment  where  the  lady  stood,  still  very  nervous. 

"  It  is  I,  Rawdon,"  she  said,  in  a  timid  voice,  which  she  strove 
to  render  cheerful.  "It  is  Jane."  Rawdon  was  quite  overcome  by 
that  kind  voice  and  presence.  He  ran  up  to  her — caught  her  in  his 
arms — gasped  out  some  inarticulate  words  of  thanks,  and  fairly  sobbed 
on  her  shoulder.     She  did  not  know  the  cause  of  his  emotion. 

The  bills  of  Mr,  Moss  were  quickly  settled,  perhaps  to  the  dis- 
appointment of  that  gentleman,  who  had  counted  on  having  the 
Colonel  as  his  guest  over  Sunday  at  least ;  and  Jane,  with  beaming 
smiles  and  happiness  in  her  eyes,  carried  away  Rawdon  from  the 
bailiffs  house,  and  they  went  homewards  in  the  cab  in  which  she 
had  hastened  to  his  release.  "  Pitt  was  gone  to  a  parliamentary 
dinner,"  she  said,  "  when  Rawdon's  note  came,  and  so,  dear  Rawdon, 
I — I  came  myself"  ;  and  she  put  her  kind  hand  in  his.  Perhaps  it 
was  well  for  Rawdon  Crawley  that  Pitt  was  away  at  that  dinner. 
Rawdon  thanked  his  sister  a  hundred  times,  and  with  an  ardour 
of  gratitude  which  touched  and  almost  alarmed  that  soft-hearted 
woman.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  in  his  rude,  artless  way,  "  you — you  don't 
know  how  I'm  changed  since  I've  known  you,  and — and  little  Rawdy. 
I — I'd  like  to  change  somehow.  You  see  I  want — I  want — to 
be — "  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  she  could  interpret  it. 
And  that  night  after  he  left  her,  and  as  she  sate  by  her  own  little 
boy's  bed,  she  prayed  humbly  for  that  poor  wayworn  sinner. 

/  "  Rawdon  left  her  and  walked  home  rapidly.  It  was  nine  o'clock 
at  night.  He  ran  across  the  streets,  and  the  great  squares  of  Vanity 
Fair,  and  at  length  came  up  breathless  opposite  his  own  house.  He 
started  back  and  fell  against  the  railings,  trembling  as  he  looked  up. 
The  drawing-room  windows  were  blazing  with  light.  She  had  said 
that  she  was  in  bed  and  ill.  He  stood  there  for  some  time,  the 
light  from  the  rooms  on  his  pale  face. 

He  took  out  his  door-key  and  let  himself  into  the  house.  He 
could  hear  laughter  in  the  upper  rooms.  He  was  in  the  ball-dress 
in  which  he  had  been  captured  the  night  before.  He  went  silently 
up  the  stairs ;  leaning  against  the  banisters  at  the  stair-head.— 
Nobody  was  stirring  in  the  house  besides — all  the  servants  had  been 
sent  away.  Rawdon  heard  laughter  within — laughter  and  singing. 
Becky  was  singing  a  snatch  of  the  song  of  the  night  before ;  a  hoarse 
voice  shouted  "  Brava  !  Brava  !  " — it  was  Lord  Steyne's. 

Rawdon  opened  the  door  and  went  in.     A  little  table  with  a 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  519 

dinner  was  laid  out — and  wine  and  plate.  Steyne  was  hanging  over 
the  sofa  on  which  Becky  sate.  The  wretched  woman  was  in  a 
brilliant  fiill  toilette,  her  arms  and  all  her  fingers  sparkling  with 
bracelets  and  rings ;  and  the  brilliants  on  her  breast  which  Steyne 
had  given  her.  He  had  her  hand  in  his,  and  was  bowing  over  it  to 
kiss  it,  when  Becky  started  up  with  a  faint  scream  as  she  caught 
sight  of  Rawdon's  white  face.  At  the  next  instant  she  tried  a  smile, 
a  horrid  _smile,  as  if  to  welcome  her  husband  :  and  Steyne  rose  up, 
grinding  his  teeth,  pale,  and  with  ftuy  in  his  looks. 

He,  too,  attempted  a  laugh — and  came  forward  holding  out  his 
hand.  "What,  come  back  !  How  d'ye  do,  Crawley?"  he  said,.. the 
nerves  of  his  mouth  twitching  as  he  tried  to  grin  at  the  intruder. 

There  was  that  in  Rawdon's  face  which  caused  Becky  to  fling 
herself  before  him.  "  I  am  innocent,  Rawdon,"  she  said ;  "  before 
God,  I  am  innocent."  She  clung  hold  of  his  coat,  of  his  hands ;  her 
own  were  all  covered  with  serpents,  and  rings,  and  baubles.  "I  am 
innocent.— Say  I  am  innocent,"  she  said  to  Lord  Steyne. 

He  thought  a  trap  had  been  laid  for  him,  and  was  as  furious   i\    Ly< 
with  the  wife  ms  with  the  husband.     "  You  innocent !     Damn  you,"         ,    J) 
TTe  screamed  out.     "  You  innocent !     Why,  every  trinket  you  have        q 
on  your  body  is  paid  for  by  me.     I  have  given  you  thousands  of         ^^ 
pounds  which  this  fellow  has  spent,  and  for  which  he  has  sold  you.    ^^ 
Innocent,  by !     You're  as  innocent  as  your  mother,  the  ballet- 
girl,  and  your  husband  the  bully.     Don't  think  to  frighten  me  as 
you  have  done  others.     Make  way,  sir,  and  let  me  pass ; "  and  Lord 
Steyne  seized  up  his  hat,  and,  with  flame  in  his  eyes,  and  looking 
his  enemy  fiercely  in  the  face,  marched  upon  him,  never  for  a  moment 
doubting  that  the  other  would  give  way. 

But  Rawdon  Crawley  springing  out,  seized  him  by  the  neckcloth, 
until  Steyne,  almost  strangled,  writhed,  and  bent  under  his  arm. 
"  You  lie,  you  dog ! "  said  Rawdon.  "  You  lie,  you  coward  and 
villain  !  "  And  he  struck  the  Peer  twice  over  the  face  with  his  open 
hand,  and  flung  him  bleeding  to  the  gi'ound.  It  was  all  done  before 
Rebecca  could  interpose.  She  stood  there  trembling  before  him. 
She  admired  her  husband,  strong,  brave,  and  victorious. 

"  Come  here,"  he  said. — She  came  up  at  once. 

"  Take  off  those  things."— She  began,  trembling,  pulling  the 
jewels  from  her  arms,  and  the  rings  from  her  shaking  fingers, 
and  held  them  all  in  a  heap,  quivering  and  looking  up  at  him. 
"Throw  them  down,"  he  said,  and  she  dropped  them.  He  tore 
the  diamond  ornament  out  of  her  breast,  and  flung  it  at  Lord 
Steyne.  It  cut  him  on  his  bald  forehead.  Steyne  wore  the  scar  a><jlI^. 
to  his  dying  day.  ""^ 

"  Come  upstairs,"  Rawdon  said  to  his  wife. 


520  VANITY    FAIR 

"Don't  kill  me,  Rawdon,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  savagely. — "  I  want  to  see  if  that  man  lies  about 
the  money  as  he  has  about  me.     Has  he  given  you  any  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Rebecca,  "  that  is " 

"  Give  me  your  keys,"  Rawdon  answered,  and  they  went  out 
together. 

Rebecca  gave  him  all  the  keys  but  one :  and  she  was  in  hopes 
that  he  would  not  have  remarked  the  absence  of  that.  It  belonged 
to  the  little  desk  which  Amelia  had  given  her  in  early  days,  and 
which  she  kept  in  a  secret  place.  But  Rawdon  flung  open  boxes 
and  wardrobes,  throwing  the  multifarious  trumpery  of  their  contents 
here  and  there,  and  at  last  he  found  the  desk.  The  woman  was 
forced  to  open  it.  It  contained  papers,  love-letters  many  years  old 
— all  sorts  of  small  trinkets  and  woman's  memoranda.  And  it  con- 
tained a  pocket-book  with  bank-notes.  Some  of  these  were  dated 
ten  years  back,  too,  and  one  was  quite  a  fresh  one — a  note  for  a 
thousand  pounds  which  Lord  Steyne  had  given  her. 
.    "  Did  he  give  you  this  ? "  Rawdon  said. 

"  Yes,"  Rebecca  answered. 

"  I'll  send  it  to  him  to-day,"  Rawdon  said  (for  day  had  dawned 
again,  and  many  hours  had  passed  in  this  search),  "  and  I  will  pay 
Briggs,  who  was  kind  to  the  boy,  and  some  of  the  debts.  You  will 
let  me  know  where  I  shall  send  the  rest  to  you.  You  might  have 
spared  me  a  hundred  pounds,  Becky,  out  of  all  this.: — I  have  always 
shared  with  you." 

"  I  am  innocent,"  said  Becky.  And  he  left  her  without  another 
word. 

What  were  her  thoughts  when  he  left  her  1  She  remained  for 
hours  after  he  was  gone,  the  sunshine  pouring  into  the  room,  and 
Rebecca  sitting  alone  on  the  bed's  edge.  The  drawers  were  all 
opened  and  their  contents  scattered  about, — dresses  and  feathers, 
scarfs  and  trinkets,  a  heap  of  tumbled  vanities  lying  in  a  wreck. 
Her  hair  was  falling  over  her  shoulders ;  her  gown  was  torn  where 
Rawdon  had  wrenched  the  brilliants  out  of  it.  She  heard  him  go 
downstairs  a  few  minutes  after  he  left  her,  and  the  door  slamming 
and  closing  on  him.  She  knew  he  would  never  come  back.  He 
was  gone  for  ever.  Would  he  kill  himself  ?— she  thought — not  until 
after  he  had  met  Lord  Steyne.  [  She  thought  of  her  long  past  life, 
and  all  the  dismal  incidents  of  it.  Ah,  how  dreary  it  seemed,  how 
miserable,  lonely,  and  profitless  !  Should  she  take  laudanum,  and 
end  it,  too — have  done  with  all  hopes,  schemes,  debts,  and  triumphs  ? 
The  French  maid  found  her  in  this  position — sitting  in  the  midst 
of  her  miserable  ruins  with  clasped  hands  and  dry  eyes.    The  woman 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  521 

was  her  accomplice  and  in  Steyne's  pay.     "Mon  Dieu,  Madame, 
what  has  happened  ? "  slie  asked. 

What  had  happened  ?  Was  she  guilty  or  not  1  She  said  not ; 
huli  who  could  tell  what  was  -truth  ^vhich  came  from  those  lips  ;  or 
if  that  corrupt  heart  was  in  this  case  pure  ?  All  her  lies  and  her 
jchfimes,  all  her  selfishness  and  her  wiles,  all  her  wit  and  genius  had 
come  to  this  bankruptcy.  The  woman  closed  the  curtains,  and  with 
^ome  entreaty  and  show  of  kindness,  persuaded  her  mistress  to  lie 
down  on  the  bed.  Then  she  went  below  and  gathered  up  the 
trinkets  which  had  been  lying  on  the  floor  since  Rebecca  dropped 
them  there  at  her  husband's  orders,  and  Lord  Steyne  went  away. 


CHAPTER   LIV 

SUNDAY    AFTER    THE    BATTLE 

THE  mansion  of  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  in  Great  Gaunt  Street,  was 
just  beginning  to  dress  itself  for  the  day,  as  Rawdon,  in  his 
evening  costume,  which  he  had  now  worn  two  days,  passed 
by  the  scared  female  who  was  scouring  the  steps,  and  entered  into 
his  brother's  study.  Lady  Jane,  in  her  morning-gown,  was  up  and 
above  stairs  in  the  nursery  superintending  the  toilettes  of  her  chil- 
dren, and  listening  to  the  morning  prayers  which  the  little  creatures 
performed  at  her  knee.  Every  morning  she  and  they  performed 
this  duty  privately,  and  before  the  public  ceremonial  at  which  Sir 
Pitt  presided,  and  at  which  all  the  people  of  the  household  were 
expected  to  assemble.  Rawdon  sate  down  in  the  study  before  the 
Baronet's  table,  set  out  with  the  orderly  blue  books  and  the  letters, 
the  neatly  docketed  bills  and  symmetrical  pamphlets  ;  the  locked 
account-books,  desks,  and  despatch  boxes,  the  Bible,  the  Quarterly 
Review,  and  the  Court  Guide,  which  all  stood  as  if  on  parade 
awaiting  the  inspection  of  their  chief. 

A  book  of  family  sermons,  one  of  which  Sir  Pitt  was  in  the 
habit  of  administering  to  his  family  on  Sunday  mornings,  lay  ready 
on  the  study  table,  and  awaiting  his  judicious  selection.  And  by  the 
sermon-book  was  the  Observer  newspaper,  damp  and  neatly  folded, 
and  for  Sir  Pitt's  own  private  use.  His  gentleman  alone  took  the 
opportunity  of  perusing  the  newspaper,  before  he  laid  it  by  his 
master's  desk.  Before  he  had  brought  it  into  the  study  that  morn- 
ing, he  had  read  in  the  journal  a  flaming  account  of  "Festivities  at 
Gaunt  House,"  with  the  names  of  all  the  distinguished  personages 
invited  by  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  to  meet  His  Royal  Highness. 
Having  made  comments  upon  this  entertainment  to  the  housekeeper 
and  her  niece  as  they  were  taking  early  tea  and  hot  buttered  toast 
in  the  former  lady's  apartment,  and  wondered  how  the  Rawding 
Crawleys  could  git  on,  the  valet  had  damped  and  folded  the  paper 
once  more,  so  that  it  looked  quite  fresh  and  innocent  against  the 
arrival  of  the  master  of  the  house. 

Poor  Rawdon  took  up  the  paper  and  began  to  try  and  read  it 
until  his  brother  should  arrive.     But  the  print  fell  blank  upon  his 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  523 

eyes ;  and  he  did  not  know  in  the  least  what  he  was  reading.  The 
Government  news  and  appointments  (which  Sir  Pitt  as  a  public 
man  was  bound  to  peruse,  otherwise  he  would  by  no  means  permit 
the  introduction  of  Sunday  papers  ^to  his  household),  the  theatrical 
criticisms,  the  fight  for  a  hundred  pounds  a  side  between  the  Barking 
Butcher  and  the  Tutbury  Pet,  the  Gaunt  House  chronicle  itself, 
which  contained  a  most  complimentary  though  guarded  account  of 
the  famous  charades  of  which  Mrs.  Becky  had  been  the  heroine- 
all  these  passed  as  in  a  haze  before  Rawdon,  as  he  sate  waiting  the 
arrival  of  the  chief  of  the  family. 

Punctually,  as  the  shrill-toned  bell  of  the  black  marble  study 
clock  began  to  chime  nine.  Sir  Pitt  made  his  appearance,  fresh,  neat, 
smugly  shaved,  with  a  waxy  clean  face,  and  stiff  shirt  collar,  his 
scanty  hair  combed  and  oiled,  trimming  his  nails  as  he  descended  the 
stairs  majestically,  in  a  starched  cravat  and  a  grey  flannel  dressing- 
gown, — a  real  old  English  gentleman,  in  a  word, — a  model  of  neatness 
and  every  propriety.  He  started  when  he  saw  poor  Rawdon  in  his 
study  in  tumbled  clothes,  with  bloodshot  eyes,  and  his  hair  over  his 
face.  He  thought  his  brother  was  not  sober,  and  had  been  out  all 
night  on  some  orgy.  "  Good  gracious,  Rawdon,"  he  said,  with  a 
blank  face,  "what  brings  you  here  at  this  time  of  the  morning? 
Why  ain't  you  at  home  1 " 

"  Home,"  said  Rawdon,  with  a  wild  laugh.  "  Don't  be  frightened, 
Pitt.     I'm  not  drunk.     Shut  the  door ;  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Pitt  closed  the  door  and  came  up  to  the  table,  where  he  sate 
down  in  the  other  arm-chair, — that  one  placed  for  the  reception  of  the 
steward,  agent,  or  confidential  visitor  who  came  to  transact  business 
with  the  Baronet,— and  trimmed  his  nails  more  vehemently  than  ever. 

"  Pitt,  it's  all  over  with  me,"  the  Colonel  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  I'm  done." 

"I  always  said  it  would  come  to  this,"  the  Baronet  cried 
peevishly,  and  beating  a  tune  with  his  clean -trimmed  nails.  "I 
warned  you  a  thousand  times.  I  can't  help  you  any  more.  Every 
shilling  of  my  money  is  tied  up.  Even  the  hundred  pounds  that 
Jane  took  you  last  night  were  promised  to  my  lawyer  to-morrow 
morning ;  and  the  want  of  it  will  put  me  to  great  inconvenience.  I 
don't  mean  to  say  that  I  won't  assist  you  ultimately.  But  as  for 
paying  your  creditors  in  full,  I  might  as  well  hope  to  pay  the  National 
Debt.  It  is  madness,  sheer  madness,  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  You 
must  come  to  a  compromise.  It's  a  painftil  thing  for  the  family ; 
but  everybody  does  it.  There  was  George  Kitely,  Lord  Ragland's 
son,  went  through  the  Court  last  week,  and  was  what  they  call 
whitewashed,  I  believe.  Lord  Ragland  would  not  pay  a  shilling  for 
him,  and " 


524  VANITY    FAIR 

"  It's  not  money  I  want,"  Rawdon  broke  in.  "  I'm  not  come  to 
you  about  myself.     Never  mind  what  happens  to  me " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  then  1 "  said  Pitt,  somewhat  relieved. 

"  It's  the  boy,"  said  Rawdon  in  a  husky  voice.  "  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  that  you  will  take  charge  of  him  when  I'm  gone.  That 
dear  good  wife  of  yours  has  always  been  good  to  him ;  and  he's  fonder 
of  her  than  he  is  of  his  .  .  . — Damn  it.  Look  here,  Pitt — you  know 
that  I  was  to  have  had  Miss  Crawley's  money.  I  wasn't  brought 
up  like  a  younger  brother :  but  was  always  encouraged  to  be  extra- 
vagant and  kep  idle.  But  for  this  I  might  have  been  quite  a  different 
man.  I  didn't  do  my  duty  with  the  regiment  so  bad.  You  know 
how  I  was  thrown  over  about  the  money,  and  who  got  it." 

"  After  the  sacrifices  I  have  made,  and  the  manner  in  which  I 
have  stood  by  you,  I  think  this  sort  of  reproach  is  useless,"  Sir  Pitt 
said.     "  Your  marriage  was  your  own  doing,  not  mine." 

"That's  over  now,"  said  Rawdon. — "That's  over  now."  And 
the  words  were  wrenched  from  him  with  a  groan,  which  made  his 
brother  start. 

"  Good  God  !  is  she  dead  ? "  Sir  Pitt  said,  with  a  voice  of  genuine 
alarm  and  commiseration. 

"  I  wish  /  was,"  Rawdon  replied.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  little  Rawdon 
I'd  have  cut  my  throat  this  morning— and  that  damned  villain's  too." 

Sir  Pitt  instantly  guessed  the  truth,  and  surmised  that  Lord 
Steyne  was  the  person  whose  life  Rawdon  wished  to  take.  The 
Colonel  told  his  senior  briefly,  and  in  broken  accents,  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  "  It  was  a  regular  plan  between  that  scoundrel 
and  her,"  he  said.  "  The  bailiffs  were  put  upon  me  :  I  was  taken 
as  I  was  going  out  of  his  house :  when  I  wrote  to  her  for  money, 
she  said  she  was  ill  in  bed,  and  put  me  ofi'  to  another  day.  And 
when  I  got  home  I  found  her  in  diamonds  and  sitting  with  that 
villain  alone."  He  then  went  on  to  describe  hurriedly  the  personal 
conflict  with  Lord  Steyne.  To  an  affair  of  that  nature,  of  course, 
lie  said,  there  was  but  one  issue :  and  after  his  conference  with  his 
brother,  he  was  going  away  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for 
the  meeting  which  must  ensue.  "  And  as  it  may  end  fatally  with 
me,"  Rawdon  said  with  a  broken  voice,  "and  as  the  boy  has  no 
mother,  I  must  leave  him  to  you  and  Jane,  Pitt — only  it  will  be  a 
comfort  to  me  if  you  will  promise  me  to  be  his  friend." 

The  elder  brother  was  much  affected,  and  shook  Rawdon's  hand 
with  a  cordiality  seldom  exhibited  by  him.  Rawdon  passed  his  hand 
over  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  "Thank  you,  brother,"  said  he.  "I 
know  I  can  trust  your  word." 

"  I  will,  upon  my  honour,"  the  Baronet  said.  And  thus,  and 
almost  mutely,  this  bargain  was  struck  between  them. 


SIR  Pitt's  study-chair. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  525 

Then  Rawdon  took  out  of  his  pocket  the  little  pocket-book  which 
he  had  discovered  in  Becky's  desk  :  and  from  which  he  drew  a  bundle 
of  the  notes  which  it  contained.  "  Here's  six  hundred,"  he  said — 
"  you  didn't  know  I  was  so  rich.  ^  I  want  you  to  give  the  money  to 
Briggs,  who  lent  it  to  us— and  who  was  kind  to  the  boy — and  I've 
always  felt  ashamed  of  having  taken  the  poor  old  woman's  money. 
And  here's  some  more — I've  only  kept  back  a  few  pounds — which 
Becky  may  a«  well  have,  to  get  on  with."  As  he  spoke  he  took  hold 
of  the  other  notes  to  give  to  his  brother  :  but  his  hands  shook,  and 
he  was  so  agitated  that  the  pocket-book  fell  from  him,  and  out  of  it 
the  thousand-pound  note  which  had  been  the  last  of  the  unlucky 
Becky's  winnings. 

Pitt  stooped  and  picked  them  up,  amazed  at  so  much  wealth. 
"  Not  that,"  Rawdon  said — "  I  hope  to  put  a  bullet  into  the  man 
whom  that  belongs  to."  He  had  thought  to  himself,  it  would  be  a 
fine  revenge  to  wrap  a  ball  in  the  note,  and  kill  Steyne  with  it. 

After  this  colloquy  the  brothers  once  more  shook  hands  and 
parted.  Lady  Jane  had  heard  of  the  Colonel's  arrival  and  was  wait- 
ing for  her  husband  in  the  adjoining  dining-room,  with  female  instinct, 
auguring  evil.  The  door  of  the  dining-room  happened  to  be  left 
open,  and  the  lady  of  course  was  issuing  from  it  as  the  two  brothers 
passed  out  of  the  study.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Rawdon,  and 
said  she  was  glad  he  was  come  to  breakfast ;  though  she  could  per- 
ceive, by  his  haggard  unshorn  face,  and  the  dark  looks  of  her  husband, 
that  there  was  very  little  question  of  breakfast  between  them. 
Rawdon  muttered  some  excuses  about  an  engagement,  squeezing  hard 
the  timid  little  hand  which  his  sister-in-law  reached  out  to  him. 
Her  imploring  eyes  could  read  nothing  but  calamity  in  his  face ;  but 
he  went  away  without  another  word.  Nor  did  Sir  Pitt  vouchsafe 
her  any  explanation.  The  children  came  up  to  salute  him,  and  he 
kissed  them  in  his  usual  frigid  manner.  The  mother  took  both  of 
them  close  to  herself,  and  held  a  hand  of  each  of  them  as  they  knelt 
down  to  prayers,  which  Sir  Pitt  read  to  them,  and  to  the  servants 
in  their  Sunday  suits  or  liveries,  ranged  upon  chairs  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hissing  tea-um.  Breakfast  was  so  late  that  day,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  delays  which  had  occurred,  that  the  church-bells  began 
to  ring  whilst  they  were  sitting  over  their  meal :  and  Lady  Jane  was 
too  ill,  she  said,  to  go  to  church,  though  her  thoughts  had  been 
entirely  astray  during  the  period  of  family  devotion. 

Rawdon  Crawley  meanwhile  hurried  on  from  Great  Gaunt  Street, 
and  knocking  at  the  great  bronze  Medusa's  head  which  stands  on  the 
portal  of  Gaunt  House,  brought  out  the  purple  Silenus  in  a  red  and 
silver  waistcoat,  who  acts  as  porter  of  that  palace.  The  man  was 
scared  also  by  the  Colonel's  dishevelled  appearance,  and  barred  the 
14 


526  VANITY    FAtR 

way  as  ii  afraid  that  the  other  was  going  to  force  it.  But  Colonel 
Crawley  only  took  out  a  card  and  enjoined  him  particularly  to  send 
it  in  to  Lord  Steyne,  and  to  mark  the  address  written  on  it,  and  say 
that  Colonel  Crawley  would  be  all  day  after  one  o'clock  at  the  Regent 
Club  in  St.  James's  Street — not  at  home.  The  fat  red-faced  man 
looked  after  him  with  astonishment  as  he  strode  away ;  so  did  the 
people  in  their  Sunday  clotlies  who  were  out  so  early ;  the  charity 
boys  with  shining  faces,  the  greengrocer  lolling  at  his  door,  and  the 
publican  shutting  his  shutters  in  the  sunshine,  against  service  com- 
menced. The  people  joked  at  the  cab-stand  about  his  appearance, 
as  he  took  a  carriage  tliore,  and  told  the  driver  to  drive  him  to 
Knightsbridge  Barracks. 
1  r  All  the  bells  were  jangling  and  tolling  as  he  reached  that  place. 
I  He  might  have  seen  his  old  acquaintance  Amelia  on  her  way  from 
H  Brompton  to  Russell  Square  had  he  been  looking  out.  Troops  of 
'  schools  were  on  their  march  to  church,  the  shiny  pavement  and  out- 
sides  of  coaches  in  the  suburbs  were  thronged  with  people  out  upon 
their  Sunday  pleasure ;  but  the  Colonel  was  much  too  busy  to  take 
any  heed  of  these  phenomena,  and  arriving  at  Knightsbridge,  speedily 
made  his  way  up  to  the  room  of  his  old  friend  and  comrade  Captain 
/^^acmurdo/ who  Crawley  found,  to  his  satisfaction,  was  in  barracks. 
Captain  Macmurdo,  a  veteran  officer  and  Waterloo  man,  greatly 
liked  by  his  regiment,  in  which  want  of  money  alone  prevented  him 
from  attaining  the  highest  ranks,  was  enjoying  the  forenoon  calmly  in 
bed.  He  had  been  at  a  fast  supper-party,  given  the  night  before  by 
Captain  the  Honourable  George  Cinqbars,  at  his  house  in  Brompton 
Square,  to  several  young  men  of  the  regiment,  and  a  number  of  ladies 
of  the  corps  de  ballet,  and  old  Mac,  who  was  at  home  with  people  of 
all  ages  and  ranks,  and  consorted  with  generals,  dog-fanciers,  opera- 
dancers,  bruisers,  and  every  kind  of  person,  in  a  word,  was  resting 
himself  after  the  night's  labours,  and,  not  being  on  duty,  was  in  bed. 
His  room  was  hung  round  with  boxing,  sporting,  and  dancing 
pictures,  presented  to  him  by  comrades  as  they  retired  from  the 
regiment,  and  married  and  settled  into  quiet  life.  And  as  he  was 
now  nearly  fifty  years  of  age,  twenty-four  of  which  he  had  passed  in 
the  corps,  he  had  a  singular  museum.  He  was  one  of  the  best  shots 
in  England,  and,  for  a  heavy  man,  one  of  the  best  riders ;  indeed, 
he  and  Crawley  had  been  rivals  when  the  latter  was  in  the  army. 
To  be  brief,  Mr.  Macmurdo  was  lying  in  bed,  reading  in  Bell's  Life 
an  account  of  that  very  fight  between  the  Tutbury  Pet  and  the 
Barking  Butcher,  which  has  been  before  mentioned — a  venerable 
bristly  warrior,  with  a  little  close-shaved  grey  head,  with  a  silk 
nightcap,  a  red  face  and  nose,  and  a  great  dyed  moustache. 

When  Rawdon  told  the  Captain  he  wanted  a  friend,  the  latter 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  527 

knew  perfectly  well  on  what  duty  of  friendship  he  was  called  to  act, 
and  indeed  had  conducted  scores  of  affairs  for  his  acquaintances 
with  the  greatest  prudence  and  skill.  His  Royal  Highness  the 
late  lamented  Commander-in-Chiel^  had  had  the  greatest  regard 
for  Macmurdo  on  this  account ;  and  he  was  the  common  refuge  of 
gentlemen  in  trouble. 

"What's  the  row  about,  Crawley,  my  boy?"  said  the  old 
warrior.  "  No  more  gambling  business,  hay,  like  that  when  we 
shot  Captain  Marker  1 " 

"  It's  about — about  my  wife,"  Crawley  answered,  casting  down 
his  eyes  and  turning  very  red. 

The  other  gave  a  whistle.  "  I  always  said  she'd  throw  you 
over,"  he  began  : — indeed  there  were  bets  in  the  regiment  and  at 
the  clubs  regarding  the  probable  fate  of  Colonel  Crawley,  so  lightly 
was  his  wife's  character  esteemed  by  his  comrades  and  the  world ; 
but  seeing  the  savage  look  with  which  Rawdon  answered  the  ex- 
pression of  this  opinion,  Macmurdo  did  not  think  fit  to  enlarge  upon 
it  fiirther. 

"  Is  there  no  way  out  of  it,  old  boy  1 "  the  Captain  continued  in 
a  grave  tone.  "  Is  it  only  suspicion,  you  know,  or — or  what  is  it  1 
Any  letters  ?  Can't  you  keep  it  quiet  ?  Best  not  make  any  noise 
about  a  thing  of  that  sort  if  you  can  help  it."  "  Think  of  his  only 
finding  her  out  now,"  the  Captain  thought  to  himself,  and  remem- 
bered a  hundred  particular  conversations  at  the  mess-table,  in  which 
Mrs.  Crawley's  reputation  had  been  torn  to  shreds. 

"  There's  no  way  but  one  out  of  it,"  Rawdon  replied — "  and 
there's  only  a  way  out  of  it  for  one  of  us,  Mac — do  you  understand  ? 
I  was  put  out  of  the  way :  arrested :  I  found  'em  alone  together. 
I  told  him  he  was  a  liar  and  a  coward,  and  knocked  him  down  and 
thrashed  him." 

"  Serve  him  right,"  Macmurdo  said.     "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

Rawdon  answered  it  was  Lord  Steyne. 

"The  deuce!  a  Marquis!  they  said  he  —  that  is,  they  said 
you " 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean ? "  roared  out  Rawdon ;  "do  you 
mean  that  you  ever  heard  a  fellow  doubt  about  my  wife,  and  didn't 
tell  me,  Mac?" 

"  The  world's  very  censorious,  old  boy,"  the  other  replied. 
"  What  the  deuce  was  the  good  of  my  telling  you  what  any  tom- 
fools talked  about?" 

"  It  was  damned  unfriendly,  Mac,"  said  Rawdon,  quite  over- 
come ;  and,  covering  his*  face  with  his  hands,  he  gave  way  to  an 
emotion,  the  sight  of  which  caused  the  tough  old  campaigner  opposite 
him  to  wince  with  sympathy. 


-^ 


L 


$28  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Hold  up,  old  boy,"  he  said ;  "  great  man  or  not,  we'll  put  a 
bullet  in  him,  damn  him.     As  for  women,  they're  all  so." 

"  You  don't  know  how  fond  I  was  of  that  one,"  Rawdon  said, 
half  inarticulately.  "  Damme,  I  followed  her  like  a  footman.  I 
gave  up  everything  I  had  to  her.  I'm  a  beggar  because  I  would 
marry  her.  By  Jove,  sir,  I've  pawned  my  own  watch  in  order  to 
get  her  anything  she  fancied ;  and  she — she's  been  making  a  purse 
for  herself  all  the  time,  and  grudged  me  a  hundred  pound  to  get  me 
out  of  quod."  He  then  fiercely  and  incoherently,  and  with  an 
agitation  under  which  his  counsellor  had  never  before  seen  him 
labour,  told  Macmurdo  the  circumstances  of  the  story.  His  adviser 
caught  at  some  stmy  hints  in  it. 

"  She  may  be  innocent,  after  all,"  he  said.  "  She  says  so. 
Steyne  has  been  a  hundred  times  alone  with  her  in  the.  house  before." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  Rawdon  answered  sadly ;  "  but  this  don't  look 
very  innocent : "  and  he  showed  the  Captain  the  thousand-pound 
note  which  he  had  found  in  Becky's  pocket-book.  "  This  is  what 
he  gave  her,  Mac  :  and  she  kep  it  unknown  to  me  :  and  with  this 
money  in  the  house  she  refused  to  stand  by  me  when  I  was  locked 
up."  The  Captain  could  not  but  own  that  the  secreting  of  the 
money  had  a  very  ugly  look. 

^  WHilst  they  were  engaged  in  their  conference,  Rawdon  despatched 
Captain  Macmurdo's  servant  to  Curzon  Street,  with  an  order  to 
the  domestic  there  to  give  up  a  bag  of  clothes  of  which  the  Colonel 
had  great  need.  And  during  the  man's  absence,  and  with  great 
labour  and  a  Johnson's  Dictionary,  which  stood  them  in  much  stead, 
Rawdon  and  his  second  composed  a  letter,  which  the  latter  was  to 
send  to  Lord  Steyne.  Captain  Macmurdo  had  the  honour  of  waiting 
upon  the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley, 
and  begged  to  intimate  that  he  was  empowered  by  the  Colonel  to 
make  any  arrangements  for  the  meeting  which,  he  had  no  doubt,  it 
was  his  Lordship's  intention  to  demand,  and  which  the  circumstances 
of  the  morning  had  rendered  inevitable.  Captain  Macmurdo  begged 
Lord  Steyne,  in  the  most  polite  manner,  to  appoint  a  friend,  with 
whom  he  (Captain  M'M.)  might  communicate,  and  desired  that  the 
meeting  might  take  place  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 

In  a  postscript  the  Captain  stated  that  he  had  in  his  possession 
a  bank-note  for  a  large  amount,  which  Colonel  Crawley  had  reason  to 
suppose  was  the  property  of  the  Marquis  of  Steyne.  And  he  was 
anxious,  on  the  Colonel's  behalf,  to  give  up  the  note  to  its  owner. 

By  the  time  this  note  was  composed,  the  Captain's  servant 
returned  from  his  mission  to  Colonel  Cr&wley's  house  in  Curzon 
Street,  but  without  the  carpet-bag  and  portmanteau,  for  which  he 
had  been  sent :  and  with  a  very  puzzled  and  odd  face. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  519 

"They  won't  give  'em  up,"  said  the  man;  "there's  a  regular 
shinty  in  the  house ;  and  everything  at  sixes  and  sevens.  The  land- 
lord's come  in  and  took  possession.  The  servants  was  a  drinkin'  up 
in  the  drawing-room.  They  said-^they  said  you  had  gone  off  with 
the  plate,  Colonel " — the  man  added  after  a  pause  : — "  One  of  the 
servants  is  off  already.  And  Simpson,  the  man  as  was  very  noisy 
and  drunk  indeed,  says  nothing  shall  go  out  of  the  house  until  his 
wages  is  paid  up." 

The  account  of  this  little  revolution  in  May  Fair  astonished  and 
gave  a  little  gaiety  to  an  otherwise  very  t/riste  conversation.  The 
two  officers  laughed  at  Rawdon's  discomfiture. 

"  I'm  glad  the  little  'un  isn't  at  home,"  Rawdon  said,  biting  his 
nails.  "  You  remember  him,  Mac,  don't  you,  in  the  Riding  School  ? 
How  he  sat  the  kicker  to  be  sure  !  didn't  he  1 " 

"  That  he  did,  old  boy,"  said  the  good-natured  Captain. 

Little  Rawdon  was  then  sitting,  one  of  fifty  gown  boys,  in  the 
Chapel  of  Whitefriars  School :  thinking,  not  about  the  sermon,  but 
about  going  home  next  Saturday,  when  his  father  would  certainly 
tip  him,  and  perhaps  would  take  him  to  the  play. 

"He's  a  regular  trump,  that  boy,"  the  father  went  on,  still 
musing  about  his  son.  "  I  say,  Mac,  if  anything  goes  wrong — if  I 
drop — I  should  like  you  to — to  go  and  see  him,  you  know  :  and  say 
that  I  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  that.  And — dash  it — old  chap, 
give  him  these  gold  sleeve-buttons :  it's  all  I've  got."  He  covered 
his  face  with  his  black  hands  :  over  which  the  tears  rolled  and  made 
furrows  of  white.  Mr.  Macmurdo  had  also  occasion  to  take  oft"  his 
silk  nightcap  and  rub  it  across  his  eyes. 

"  Go  down  and  order  some  breakfast,"  he  said  to  his  man  in  a 
loud  cheerful  voice, — "  What'll  you  have,  Crawley  ?  Some  devilled 
kidneys  and  a  herring — let's  say — And,  Clay,  lay  out  some  dressing 
things  for  the  Colonel :  we  were  always  pretty  much  of  a  size, 
Rawdon,  my  boy,  and  neither  of  us  ride  so  light  as  we  did  when  we 
first  entered  the  corps."  With  which,  and  leaving  the  Colonel  to 
dress  himself,  Macmurdo  turned  round  towards  the  wall,  and  resumed 
the  perusal  of  BeWs  Life,  until  such  time  as  his  friend's  toilette  was 
complete,  and  he  was  at  liberty  to  commence  his  own. 

This,  as  he  was  about  to  meet  a  lord.  Captain  Macmurdo  performed 
with  particular  care.  He  waxed  his  mustachios  into  a  state  of  brilliant 
polish,  and  put  on  a  tight  cravat  and  a  trim  buff  waistcoat :  so  that 
all  the  young  officers  in  the  mess-room,  whither  Crawley  had  preceded 
his  friend,  complimented  Mac  on  his  appearance  at  breakfast,  and 
asked  if  he  was  going  to  be  married  that  Simday  % 


CHAPTER  LV 

IN  WHICH  THE  SAME  SUBJECT  IS  PURSUED 

BECKY  did  not  rally  from  the  state  of  stupor  and  confusion  in 
which  the  events  of  the  previous  night  had  plunged  her  intrepid 
spirit,  until  the  bells  of  the  Curzon  Street  Chapels  were  ringing 
for  afternoon  service,  and  rising  from  her  bed  she  began  to  ply  her 
own  bell,  in  order  to  summon  the  French  maid  who  had  left  her 
some  hours  before. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  rang  many  times  in  vain ;  and  though, 
on  the  last  occasion,  she  rang  with  sucli  vehemence  as  to  pull  down 
the  bell-rope.  Mademoiselle  Fifine  did  not  make  her  appearance, — 
no,  not  though  her  mistress,  in  a  great  pet,  and  with  the  bell-rope 
in  her  hand,  came  out  to  the  landing-place  with  her  hair  over  her 
shoulders,  and  screamed  out  repeatedly  for  her  attendant. 

The  truth  is,  she  had  quitted  the  premises  for  many  hours,  and 
upon  that  permission  which  is  called  French  leave  among  us.  After 
picking  up  the  trinkets  in  the  drawing-room,  Mademoiselle  had 
ascended  to  her  own  apartments,  packed  and  corded  her  own  boxes 
there,  tripped  out  and  called  a  cab  for  herself,  brought  down  her 
trunks  with  her  own  hand,  and  without  ever  so  much  as  asking  the 
aid  of  any  of  the  other  servants,  who  would  probably  have  refused 
it,  as  they  hated  her  cordially,  and  without  wishing  any  one  of  them 
good-bye,  had  made  her  exit  from  Curzon  Street. 

The  game,  in  her  opinion,  was  over  in  that  little  domestic  estab- 
lishment. Fifine  went  off  in  a  cab,  as  we  have  known  more  exalted 
persons  of  her  nation  to  do  under  similar  circumstances  ;  but,  more 
provident  or  lucky  than  these,  she  secured  not  only  her  own  property, 
but  some  of  her  mistress's  (if  indeed  that  lady  could  be  said  to  have 
any  property  at  all) — and  not  only  carried  off  the  trinkets  before 
alluded  to,  and  some  favourite  dresses  on  which  she  had  long  kept 
her  eye,  but  four  richly  gilt  Louis  Quatorze  candlesticks,  six  gilt 
Albums,  Keepsakes,  and  Books  of  Beauty,  a  gold  enamelled  snuff- 
box which  had  once  belonged  to  Madame  du  Barri,  and  the  sweetest 
little  inkstand  and  mother-of-pearl  blotting-book,  which  Becky  used 
when  she  composed  her  charming  little  pink  notes,  had  vanished 
from  the  premises  in   Curzon   Street   together  with   Mademoiselle 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  531 

Fifine,  and  all  the  silver  laid  on  the  table  for  the  little  festin  which 
Rawdon  interrupted.  The  plated  ware  Mademoiselle  left  behind  her 
was  too  cumbrous,  probably  for  which  reason,  no  doubt,  she  also  left 
the  fire-irons,  the  chimney-glasses,  «thd  the  rosewood  cottage  piano. 

A  lady  very  like  her  subsequently  kept  a  milliner's  shop  in  the 
Rue  du  Helder  at  Paris,  where  she  lived  with  great  credit  and  en- 
joyed the  patronage  of  my  Lord  Steyne.  This  person  always  spoke 
of  England  as  of  the  most  treacherous  country  in  the  world,  and 
stated  to  her  young  pupils  that  she  had  been  affreusement  voU  by 
natives  of  that  island.  It  was  no  doubt  compassion  for  her  misfor- 
tunes which  induced  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  to  be  so  very  kind  to 
Madame  de  Saint- Amaranthe.  May  she  flourish  as  she  deserves, — 
she  appears  no  more  in  our  quarter  of  Vanity  Fair. 

Hearing  a  buzz  and  a  stir  below,  and  indignant  at  the  impudence 
of  those  servants  who  would  not  answer  her  summons,  Mrs.  Crawley 
flung  her  morning  robe  round  her,  and  descended  majestically  to  the 
drawing-room,  whence  the  noise  proceeded. 

The  cook  was  there  with  blackened  face,  seated  on  the  beautiful 
chintz  sofa  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Raggles,  to  whom  she  was  admini- 
stering maraschino.  The  page  with  the  sugar-loaf  buttons,  who 
carried  about  Becky's  pink  notes,  and  jumped  about  her  little 
carriage  with  such  alacrity,  was  now  engaged  putting  his  fingers 
into  a  cream  dish ;  the  footman  was  talking  to  Raggles,  who  had 
a  face  full  of  perplexity  and  woe — and  yet,  though  the  door  was 
open,  and  Becky  had  been  screaming  a  half-dozen  of  times  a  few 
feet  off",  not  one  of  her  attendants  had  obeyed  her  call.  "  Have  a 
little  drop,  do'ee  now,  Mrs.  Raggles,"  the  cook  was  saying  as  Becky 
entered,  the  white  cashmere  dressing-gown  flouncing  around  her. 

"  Simpson  !  Trotter  ! "  the  mistress  of  the  house  cried  in  great 
wrath.  "  How  dare  you  stay  here  when  you  heard  me  call  %  How 
dare  you  sit  down  in  my  presence  1  Where's  my  maidT'  The 
page  withdrew  his  fingers  from  his  mouth  with  a  momentary  terror  : 
but  the  cook  took  off  a  glass  of  maraschino,  of  which  Mrs.  Raggles 
had  had  enough,  staring  at  Becky  over  the  little  gilt  glass  as  she 
drained  its  contents.  The  liquor  appeared  to  give  the  odious 
rebel  courage. 

"  Yrmr  sofy,  indeed  !  "  Mrs.  Cook  said.  "  I'm  a  settin'  on  Mrs. 
Raggles's  sofy.  Don't  you  stir,  Mrs.  Raggles,  Mum.  I'm  a  settin' 
on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raggles's  sofy,  which  they  bought  with  honest 
money,  and  very  dear  it  cost  'em,  too.  And  I'm  thinkin'  if  I  set 
here  until  I'm  paid  my  wages,  I  shall  set  a  precious  long  time,  Mrs. 
Raggles ;  and  set  I  will,  too — ha !  ha ! "  and  with  this  she  filled 
lierself  another  glass  of  the  liquor,  and  drank  it  with  a  more  hideous 
satirical  air. 


532  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Trotter !  Simpson  !  turn  that  drunken  wretch  out,"  screamed 
Mrs.  Crawley. 

"I  shawn't,"  said  Trotter  the  footman;  "turn  out  yourself. 
Pay  our  selleries,  and  turn  me  out  too.      We'll  go  fast  enough." 

"Are  you  all  here  to  insult  me?"  cried  Becky  in  a  fury; 
"  when  Colonel  Crawley  comes  home  I'll " 

At  this  the  servants  burst  into  a  hoarse  haw-haw,  in  which, 
however,  Haggles,  who  still  kept  a  most  melancholy  countenance, 
did  not  join.  "He  ain't  a  coming  back,"  Mr.  Trotter  resumed. 
"  He  sent  for  his  things,  and  I  wouldn't  let  'em  go,  although  Mr. 
Haggles  would :  and  I  don't  b'lieve  he's  no  more  a  Colonel  than  I 
am.  He's  hoff :  and  I  suppose  you're  a  goin'  after  him.  You're 
no  better  than  swindlers,  both  on  you.  Don't  be  a  bullyin'  me.  I 
won't  stand  it.  Pay  us  our  selleries,  I  say.  Pay  us  our  selleries." 
It  was  evident,  from  Mr.  Trotter's  flushed  countenance  and  defec- 
tive intonation,  that  he,  too,  had  had  recourse  to  vinous  stimulus. 

"  Mr.  Raggles,"  said  Becky,  in  a  passion  of  vexation,  "  you  will 
not  surely  let  me  be  insulted  by  that  drunken  man  1 " 

"  Hold  your  noise,  Trotter ;  do  now,"  said  Simpson  the  page. 
He  was  affected  by  his  mistress's  deplorable  situation,  and  succeeded 
in  preventing  an  outrageous  denial  of  the  epithet  "  drunken  "  on  the 
footman's  part. 

"0  Mam,"  said  Raggles,  "T  never  thought  to  live  to  see  this 
year  day.  I've  known  the  Crawley  family  ever  since  I  was  bora. 
I  lived  butler  with  Miss  Crawley  for  thirty  years ;  and  I  little 
thought  one  of  that  family  was  a  goin'  to  ruing  me — yes,  ruing  me  " 
— said  the  poor  fellow  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  Har  you  a  goin'  to 
pay  me?  You've  lived  in  this  'ouse  four  year.  You've  'ad  my 
substance :  my  plate  and  linning.  You  ho  me  a  milk  and  butter 
bill  of  two  'undred  pound,  you  must  'ave  noo-laid  heggs  for  your 
homlets,  and  cream  for  your  spanil  dog." 

"  Sbe  didn't  care  what  her  own  flesh  and  blood  had,"  interposed 
the  cook.     "  Many's  the  time,  he'd  have  starved  but  for  me." 

"He's  a  charaty  boy  now.  Cooky,"  said  Mr.  Trotter,  with  a 
drunken  "  ha  !  ha  ! " — and  honest  Raggles  continued,  in  a  lamen- 
table tone,  an  enumeration  of  his  griefs.  All  he  said  was  true. 
Becky  and  her  husband  had  ruined  him.  He  had  bills  coming 
due  next  week  and  no  means  to  meet  them.  He  would  be  sold  up 
and  turned  out  of  his  shop  and  his  house,  because  he  had  trusted  to 
the  Crawley  family.  His  tears  and  lamentations  made  Becky  more 
peevish  than  ever. 

"  You  all  seem  to  be  against  me,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  What 
do  you  want  1  I  can't  pay  you  on  Sunday.  Come  bac^  to-morrow, 
and  I'll  pay  you  everything.     I  thought  Colonel  Crawley  had  settled 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  533 

^vith  you.  He  will  to-morrow.  I  declare  to  you  upon  my  honour 
that  he  left  home  this  morning  with  fifteen  hundred  pounds  in  his 
pocket-book.  He  has  left  me  nothing.  Apply  to  him.  Give  me 
a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  let  me  go^out  and  find  him.  There  was 
a  difference  between  us  this  morning.  You  all  seem  to  know  it. 
I  promise  you  upon  my  word  that  you  shall  all  be  paid.  He  has 
got  a  good  appointment.     Let  me  go  out  and  find  him." 

This  audacious  statement  caused  Haggles  and  the  other  personages 
present  to  look  at  one  another  with  a  wild  surprise,  and  with  it 
Rebecca  left  them.  She  went  upstairs  and  dressed  herself  this  time 
without  the  aid  of  her  French  maid.  She  went  into  Rawdon's  room, 
and  there  saw  that  a  trunk  and  bag  were  packed  ready  for  removal, 
with  a  pencil  direction  that  they  should  be  given  when  called  for ; 
then  she  went  into  the  Frenchwoman's  garret ;  everything  was  clean, 
and  all  the  drawers  emptied  there.  She  bethought  herself  of  the 
trinkets  which  had  been  left  on  the  ground,  and  felt  certain  that  the 
woman  had  fled.  "  Good  heavens  !  was  ever  such  ill-luck  as  mine  1 " 
she  said ;  "  to  be  so  near,  and  to  lose  all.  Is  it  all  too  late  1 "  No ; 
there  was  one  chance  more. 

She  dressed  herself,  and  went  away  unmolested  this  time,  but 
alone.  It  was  four  o'clock.  She  went  swiftly  down  the  streets  (she 
had  no  money  to  pay  for  a  carriage),  and  never  stopped  until  she  came 
to  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's  door,  in  Great  Gaunt  Street.  Where  was  Lady 
Jane  Crawley  1  She  was  at  church.  Becky  was  not  sorry.  Sir  Pitt 
was  in  his  study,  and  had  given  orders  not  to  be  disturbed — she 
must  see  him — she  slipped  by  the  sentinel  in  livery  at  once,  and  was 
in  Sir  Pitt's  room  before  the  astonished  Baronet  had  even  laid  down 
the  paper.  He  turned  red  and  started  back  from  her  with  a  look 
of  great  alarm  and  horror. 

"  Do  not  look  so,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  guilty,  Pitt,  dear  Pitt ; 
you  were  my  friend  once.  Before  God,  I  am  not  guilty.  I  seem  so. 
Everything  is  against  me.  And  0  !  at  such  a  moment !  just  when 
all  my  hopes  were  about  to  be  realised  :  just  when  happiness  was  in 
store  for  us." 

"  Is  this  true,  what  I  see  in  the  paper,  then  'i "  Sir  Pitt  said — a 
paragraph  in  which  had  greatly  surprised  him. 

"  It  is  true.  Lord  Steyne  told  me  on  Friday  night,  the  night  of 
that  fatal  ball.  He  has  been  promised  an_a£pointmenL.any  tim_e 
these  six  months.  Mr.  Martyr,  the  Colonial  Secretary,  told  him 
yesterday  that  it  was  made  out.  That  unlucky  arrest  ensued ;  that 
horrible  meeting.  I  was  only  guilty  of  too  much  devotedness  to 
Rawdon's  service.  I  have  received  Lord  Steyne  alone  a  hundred 
times  before.  I  confess  I  had  money  of  which  Rawdon  knew  nothing. 
Don't  you  know  how  careless  he  is  of  it,  and  could  I  dare  to  confide 


534  VANITY    FAIR 

it  to  him  1 "  And  so  she  went  on  with  a  perfectly  connected  story, 
which  she  poured  into  the  ears  of  her  perplexed  kinsman. 

It  was  to  the  following  effect.  Becky  owned,  and  with  perfect 
frankness,  but  deep  contrition,  that  having  remarked  Lord  Steyne's 
partiality  for  her  (at  the  mention  of  which  Pitt  blushed),  and  being 
secure  of  her  own  virtue,  she  had  determined  to  turn  the  great  peer's 
attachment  to  the  advantage  of  herself  and  her  family.  "  I  looked 
for  a  peerage  for  you,  Pitt,"  she  said  (the  brother-in-law  again  turned 
red).  "  We  have  talked  about  it.  Your  genius  and  Lord  Steyne's 
interest  made  it  more  than  probable,  had  not  this  dreadful  calamity 
come  to  put  an  end  to  all  our  hopes.  But,  first,  I  own  that  it  was 
my  object  to  rescue  my  dear  husband, — him  whom  I  love  in  spite 
of  all  his  ill-usage  and  suspicions  of  me, — to  remove  him  from  the 
poverty  and  ruin  which  was  impending  over  us.  I  saw  Lord  Steyne's 
partiality  for  me,"  she  said,  casting  down  her  eyes.  "  I  own  that  I 
did  everything  in  my  power  to  make  myself  pleasing  to  him,  and  as 
far  as  an  honest  woman  may,  to  secure  his — his  esteem.  It  was  only 
on  Friday  morning  that  the  news  arrived  of  the  death  of  the  Governor 
of  Coventry  Island,  and  my  Lord  instantly  secured  the  appointment  for 
my  dear  husband.  It  was  intended  as  a  surprise  for  him, — he  was 
to  see  it  in  the  papers  to-day.  Even  after  that  horrid  arrest  took 
place  (the  expenses  of  which  Lord  Steyne  generously  said  he  would 
settle,  so  that  I  was  in  a  manner  prevented  from  coming  to  my 
husband's  assistance),  my  Lord  was  laughing  with  me,  and  saying 
that  my  dearest  Rawdon  would  be  consoled  when  he  read  of  his 
appointment  in  the  paper,  in  that  shocking  spun — bailiffs  house. 
And  then — then  he  came  home.  His  suspicions  were  excited, — the 
dreadful  scene  took  place  between  my  Lord  and  my  cruel,  cruel 
Rawdon — and,  0  my  God,  what  will  happen  next  ?  Pitt,  dear  Pitt ! 
pity  me,  and  reconcile  us  ! "  And  as  she  spoke  she  flung  herself 
down  on  her  knees,  and  bursting  into  tears,  seized  hold  of  Pitt's 
hand,  which  she  kissed  passionately. 

It  was  in  this  very  attitude  that  Lady  Jane,  who,  returning  from 
church,  ran  to  her  husband's  room  directly  she  heard  Mrs.  Rawdon 
Crawley  was  closeted  there,  found,  the  Baronet  and  his  sister-in-law. 

"I  am  surprised  that  woman  has  the  audacity  to  enter  this 
house,"  Lady  Jane  said,  trembling  in  every  limb,  and  turning  quite 
pale.  (Her  Ladyship  had  sent  out  her  maid  directly  after  breakfast, 
who  had  communicated  with  Raggles  and  Rawdon  Crawley's  house- 
hold, who  had  told  her  all,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  they  knew, 
of  that  story,  and  many  others  besides.)  "  How  dare  Mrs.  Crawley 
to  enter  the  house  of — of  an  honest  family  1 " 

Sir  Pitt  started  back,  amazed  at  his  wife's  display  of  vigour. 
Becky  still  kept  her  kneeling  posture,  and  clung  to  Sir  Pitt's  hand, 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  535 

"  Tell  her  that  she  does  not  know  all.  Tell  her  that  I  am  inno- 
cent, dear  Pitt,"  she  whimpered  out. 

"  Upon  my  word,  my  love,  I  think  you  do  Mrs.  Crawley  in- 
justice," Sir  Pitt  said ;  at  which  speech  Eebecca  was  vastly  reHeved. 
"  Indeed  I  believe  her  to  be " 

"To  be  whatl"  cried  out  Lady  Jane,  her  clear  voice  thrilling, 
and  her  heart  beating  violently  as  she  spoke.  "To  be  a  wicked 
woman — a  heartless  mother,  a  false  wife  ?  She  never  loved  her  dear 
little  boy,  who  used  to  fly  here  and  tell  me  of  her  cruelty  to  him. 
She  never  came  into  a  family  but  she  strove  to  bring  misery  with 
her,  and  to  weaken  the  most  sacred  affections  with  her  wicked  flattery 
and  falsehoods.  She  has  deceived  her  husband,  as  she  has  deceived 
everybody ;  her  soul  is  black  with  vanity,  worldliness,  and  all  sorts 
of  crime.  I  tremble  when  I  touch  her.  I  keep  my  children  out  of 
her  sight.     I " 

"  Lady  Jane ! "  cried  Sir  Pitt,  starting  up,  "  this  is  really 
language; " 

"  I  have  been  a  true  and  faithful  wife  to  you,  Sir  Pitt,"  Lady 
Jane  continued  intrepidly;  "I  have  kept  my  marriage  vow  as  I 
made  it  to  God,  and  have  been  obedient  and  gentle  as  a  wife  should. 
But  righteous  obedience  has  its  limits,  and  I  declare  that  I  will  not 
bear  that — that  woman  again  under  my  roof :  if  she  enters  it,  I  and 
my  children  will  leave  it.  She  is  not  worthy  to  sit  down  with 
Christian  people.  You — you  must  choose,  sir,  between  her  and 
me ; "  and  with  this  my  Lady  swept  out  of  the  room,  fluttering  with 
her  own  audacity,  and  leaving  Rebecca  and  Sir  Pitt  not  a  little 
astonished  at  it. 

As  for  Becky,  she  was  not  hurt ;  nay,  she  was  plgas^d.  "It 
was  the  diamond-clasp  you  gave  me,"  she  said  to  Sir  Pitt,  reaching 
him  out  her  hand  ;  and  before  she  left  him  (for  which  event  you  may 
be  sure  my  Lady  Jane  was  looking  out  from  her  dressing-room  window 
in  the  upper  storey)  the  Baronet  had  promised  to  go  and  seek  out  his 
brother,  and  endeavour  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation. 

Rawdon  found  some  of  the  young  fellows  of  the  regiment  seated 
in  the  mess-room  at  breakfast,  and  was  induced  without  much  diffi- 
culty to  partake  of  that  meal,  and  of  the  devilled  legs  of  fowls  and 
soda-water  with  which  these  young  gentlemen  fortified  themselves. 
Then  they  had  a  conversation  befitting  the  day  and  their  time  of 
life :  about  the  next  pigeon-match  at  Battersea,  with  relative  bets 
upon  Ross  and  Osbaldiston  :  about  Mademoiselle  Ariane  of  the 
French  Opera,  and  who  had  left  her,  and  how  she  was  consoled  by 
Panther  Can* ;  and  about  the  fight  between  the  Butcher  and  the 
Pet,  and  the  probabilities  that  it  was  a  cross.     Young  Tandyman, 


536  VANITY    FAIR 

a  hero  of  seventeen,  laboriously  endeavouring  to  get  up  a  pair  of 
mustachios,  had  seen  the  fight,  and  spoke  in  the  most  scientific 
manner  about  the  battle,  and  the  condition  of  the  men.  It  was  he 
who  had  driven  the  Butcher  on  to  the  ground  in  his  drag,  and  passed 
the  whole  of  the  previous  night  with  him.  Had  there  not  been  foul 
play  he  must  have  won  it.  All  the  old  files  of  the  Ring  were  in 
it :  and  Tandyman  wouldn't  pay ;  no,  dammy,  he  wouldn't  pay. — 
It  was  but  a  year  since  the  young  Cornet,  now  so  knowing  a  hand 
in  Cribb's  parlour,  had  a  still  lingering  liking  for  toffy,  and  used  to 
be  birched  at  Eton. 

So  they  went  on  talking  a;bout  dancers,  fights,  drinking,  demireps, 
until  Macmurdo  came  down  and  joined  the  boys  and  the  conversa- 
tion. He  did  not  appear  to  think  that  any  especial  reverence  was 
due  to  their  boyhood ;  the  old  fellow  cut  in  with  stories,  to  the  full 
as  choice  as  any  the  youngest  rake  present  had  to  tell ; — nor  did  his 
own  grey  hairs  nor  their  smooth  faces  detain  him.  Old  Mac  was 
famous  for  his  good  stories.  He  was  not  exactly  a  lady's  man ;  that 
is,  men  asked  him  to  dine  rather  at  the  houses  of  their  mistresses 
than  of  their  mothers.  There  can  scarcely  be  a  life  lower,  perhaps, 
than  his ;  but  he  was  quite  contented  with  it,  such  as  it  was,  and  led 
it  in  perfect  good-nature,  simplicity,  and  modesty  of  demeanour. 

By  the  time  Mac  had  finished  a  copious  breakfast,  most  of  the 
others  had  concluded  their  meal.  Young  Lord  Varinas  was  smoking 
an  immense  meerschaum  pipe,  while  Captain  Hugues  was  employed 
with  a  cigar  :  that  violent  little  devil  Tandyman,  with  his  little  bull- 
terrier  between  his  legs,  was  tossing  for  shillings  with  all  his  might 
(that  fellow  was  always  at  some  game  or  other)  against  Captain 
Deuceace ;  and  Mac  and  Rawdon  walked  off  to  the  Club,  neither, 
of  course,  having  given  any  hint  of  the  business  which  was  occupy- 
ing their  minds.  Both,  on  the  other  hand,  had  joined  pretty  gaily 
in  the  conversation ;  for  why  should  they  interrupt  it  ?  Feasting, 
drinking,  ribaldry,  laughter,  go  on  alongside  of  all  sorts  of  other 
occupations  in  Vanity  Fair, — the  crowds  were  pouring  out  of  church 
as  Rawdon  and  his  friend  passed  down  St.  James's  Street  and 
entered  into  their  Club. 

The  old  bucks  and  habitues,  who  ordinarily  stand  gaping  and 
grinning  out  of  the  great  front  window  of  the  Club,  had  not  arrived 
at  their  posts  as  yet,  — the  newspaper-room  was  almost  empty.  One 
man  was  present  whom  Rawdon  did  not  know ;  another  to  whom 
he  owed  a  little  score  for  whist,  and  whom,  in  consequence,  he  did 
not  care  to  meet ;  a  third  was  reading  the  Royalist  (a  periodical 
famous  for  its  scandal  and  its  attachment  to  Church  and  King) 
Sunday  paper  at  the  table,  and,  looking  up  at  Crawley  with  some 
interest,  said,  "  Crawley,  I  congratulate  you." 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  537 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  It's  in  the  Observe^'  and  the  loyalist  too,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

"  What  ? "  Rawdon  cried,  turning  very  red.  He  thought  that 
the  affair  with  Lord  Steyne  was  already  in  the  public  prints.  Smith 
looked  up  wondering  and  smiling  at  the  agitation  which  the  Colonel 
exhibited  as  he  took  up  the  paper,  and,  trembling,  began  to  read. 

Mr.  Smith  and  Mr.  Brown  (the  gentleman  with  whom  Rawdon 
had  the  outstanding  whist  account)  had  been  talking  about  the 
Colonel  just  before  he  came  in. 

"  It  is  come  just  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said  Smith.  "  I  suppose 
Crawley  had  not  a  shilling  in  the  world." 

"  It's  a  wind  that  blows  everybody  good,"  Mr.  Brown  said.  "  He 
can't  go  away  without  paying  me  a  pony  he  owes  me." 

"What's  the  salary?"  asked  Smith. 

"Two  or  three  thousand,"  answered  the  other.  "But  the 
climate's  so  infernal,  they  don't  enjoy  it  long.  Liverseege  died 
after  eighteen  months  of  it :  and  the  man  before  went  off  in  six 
weeks,  I  hear." 

"  Some  people  say  his  brother  is  a  very  clever  man.     I  always 

found  him  a  d bore,"  Smith  ejaculatec^.     "  He  must  have  good 

interest,  though.     He  must  have  got  the  C^onel  the  place." 

"  He  I "  said  Brown,  with  a  sneer — "  Pooh  ! — It  was  Lord  Steyne 
got  it." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  A  virtuous  woman  is  a  crown  to  her  husband,"  answered  the 
other  enigmatically,  and  went  to  read  his  papers. 

Rawdon,  for  his  part,  read  in  the  Royalist  the  following  astonish- 
ing paragraph  : — 

"Governorship  of  Coventry  Island. — H.M.S.  Yelloujack^ 
Commander  Jaunders,  has  brought  letters  and  papers  from  Coventry 
Island.  H.E.  Sir  Thomas  Liverseege  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
prevailing  fever  at  Swampton.  His  loss  is  deeply  felt  in  the  flourish- 
ing colony.  We  hear  that  the  Governorship  has  been  offered  to 
Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  C.B.,  a  distinguished  Waterloo  officer. 
We  need  not  only  men  of  acknowledged  bravery,  but  men  of  admini- 
strative talents  to  superintend  the  affairs  of  our  colonies ;  and  we 
have  no  doubt  that  the  gentleman  selected  by  the  Colonial  Office  to 
fill  the  lamented  vacancy  which  has  occurred  at  Coventry  Island  is 
admirably  calculated  for  the  post  which  he  is  about  to  occupy." 

"  Coventry  Island  !  where  was  it  ?  who  Jiad  appointed  him  to  the 
government  t  You  must  take  me  out  as  your  secretary,  old  boy," 
Captain  Macmurdo  said,  laughing ;  and  as  Crawley  and  his  friend 


538  VANITY    FAIR 

sat  wondering  and  perplexed  over  the  announcement,  the  Club  waiter 
brought  in  to  the  Colonel  a  card,  on  which  the  name  of  Mr.  Wenham 
was  engraved,  who  begged  to  see  Colonel  Crawley. 

The  Colonel  and  his  aide-de-camp  went  out  to  meet  the  gentle- 
man, rightly  conjecturing  that  he  was  an  emissary  of  Lord  Steyne. 
"  How  d'ye  do,  Crawley  1  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Wenham, 
with  a  bland  smile,  and  grasping  Crawley's  hand  with  great  cordiality. 

"You  come,  I  suppose,  from ' 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Wenham. 

"  Then  this  is  my  friend  Captain  Macmurdo,  of  the  Life  Guards 
Green." 

"  Delighted  to  know  Captain  Macmurdo,  I'm  sure,"  Mr.  Wenham 
said,  and  tendered  another  smile  and  shake  of  the  hand  to  the  second, 
as  he  had  done  to  the  principal.  Mac  put  out  one  finger,  armed 
with  a  buckskin  glove,  and  made  a  very  frigid  bow  to  Mr.  Wenham 
over  his  tight  cravat.  He  was,  perhaps,  discontented  at  being  put 
in  communication  with  a^pekin,  and  thought  that  Lord  Steyne  should 
have  sent  him  a  Colonel  at  the  very  least. 

"  As  Macmurdo  acts  for  me,  and  knows  what  I  mean,"  Crawley 
said,  "  I  had  better  retire  and  leave  you  together." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Macmurdo. 

"By  no  means,  my  dear  Colonel,"  Mr.  Wenham  said;  "the 
interview  which  I  had  the  honour  of  requesting  was  with  you  person- 
ally, though  the  company  of  Captain  Macmurdo  cannot  fail  to  be 
also  most  pleasing.  In  fact.  Captain,  I  hope  that  our  conversation 
will  lead  to  none  but  the  most  agreeable  results,  very  different  from 
those  which  my  friend  Colonel  Crawley  appears  to  anticipate." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Captain  Macmurdo. — Be  hanged  to  these 
civilians,  he  thought  to  himself,  they  are  always  for  arranging  and 
speechifying.  Mr.  Wenham  took  a  chair  which  was  not  offered  to 
him— took  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  resumed — 

"  You  have  seen  this  gratifying  announcement  in  the  papers  this 
morning,  Colonel  1  Government  has  secured  a  most  valuable  servant, 
and  you,  if  you  accept  office,  as  I  presume  you  will,  an  excellent 
appointment.  Three  thousand  a  year,  delightful  climate,  excellent 
government-house,  all  your  own  way  in  the  Colony,  and  a  certain 
promotion.  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  presume  you 
know,  gentlemen,  to  whom  my  friend  is  indebted  for  this  piece  of 
patronage  ? " 

"  Hanged  if  I  know,"  the  Captain  said :  his  principal  turned 
very  red. 

"  To  one  of  the  most  generous  and  kindest  men  in  the  world, 
as  he  is  one  of  the  greatest— to  my  excellent  friend,  the  Marquis 
of  Steyne." 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  539 

"  I'll  see  him  d before  I  take  his  place,"  growled  out  Rawdon. 

"You  are  irritated  against  my  noble  friend,"  Mr.  Wenham 
calmly  resumed :  "  and  now,  in  the  name  of  common  sense  and 
justice,  tell  me  why  ? "  ^ 

"  Why  ?  "  cried  Rawdon  in  surprise. 

"  Why  1  Dammy  !  "  said  the  Captain,  ringing  his  stick  on  the 
ground. 

"  Dammy,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Wenham,  with  the  most  agreeable 
smile ;  "  still,  look  at  the  matter  as  a  man  of  the  world — as  an 
honest  man,  and  see  if  you  have  not  been  in  the  wrong.  You  come 
home  from  a  journey,  and  find — what  1 — my  Lord  Steyne  supping 
at  your  house  in  Curzon  Street  with  Mrs.  Crawley.  Is  the  circum- 
stance strange  or  novel  ?  Has  he  not  been  a  hundred  times  before 
in  the  same  position  1  Upon  my  honour  and  word  as  a  gentleman  " 
(Mr.  Wenham  here  put  his  hand  on  his  waistcoat  with  a  parliamen- 
tary air),  "  I  declare  I  think  that  your  suspicions  are  monstrous  and 
utterly  unfounded,  and  that  they  injure  an  honourable  gentleman 
who  has  proved  his  good-will  towards  you  by  a  thousand  benefac- 
tions— and  a  most  spotless  and  innocent  lady." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that — that  Crawley's  mistaken?"  said 
Mr.  Macmurdo. 

"I  believe  that  Mrs.  Crawley  is  as  innocent  as  my  wife,  Mrs. 
Wenham,"  Mr.  Wenham  said  with  great  energy.  "  I  believe  that, 
misled  by  an  infernal  jealousy,  my  friend  here  strikes  a  blow  against 
not  only  an  infirm  and  old  man  of  high  station,  his  constant  friend 
and  benefactor,  but  against  his  wife,  his  own  dearest  honour,  his 
son's  future  reputation,  and  his  own  prospects  in  life. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  happened,"  Mr.  Wenham  continued  with 
great  solemnity ;  "I  was  sent  for  this  morning  by  my  Lord  Steyne, 
and  found  him  in  a  pitiable  state,  as,  I  need  hardly  inform  Colonel 
Crawley,  any  man  of  age  and  infirmity  would  be  after  a  personal 
conflict  with  a  man  of  your  strength.  I  say  to  your  face  :  it  was  a 
cruel  advantage  you  took  of  that  strength.  Colonel  Crawley.  It 
was  not  only  the  body  of  my  noble  and  excellent  friend  which  was 
wounded, — his  heart,  sir,  was  bleeding.  A  man  whom  he  had 
loaded  with  benefits  and  regarded  with  affection,  had  subjected  him 
to  the  foulest  indignity.  What  was  this  very  appointment,  which 
appears  in  the  journals  of  to-day,  but  a  proof  of  his  kindness  to  you  1 
When  I  saw  his  Lordship  this  morning  I  found  him  in  a  state  piti- 
able indeed  to  see  :  and  as  anxious  as  you  are  to  revenge  the  outrage 
committed  upon  him,  by  blood.  You  know  he  has  given  his  proofs, 
I  presume.  Colonel  Crawley  ? " 

"He  has  plenty  of  pluck,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Nobody  ever 
said  he  hadn't." 


$40  VANITY    FAIR 

"  His  first  order  to  me  was  to  write  a  letter  of  challenge,  and  to 
carry  it  to  Colonel  Crawley.  One  or  other  of  us,"  he  said,  "must 
not  survive  the  outrage  of  last  night." 

Crawley  nodded.  "  You're  coming  to  the  point,  Wenham,"  he 
said. 

"  I  tried  my  utmost  to  calm  Lord  Steyne.  Good  God  !  sir,"  I 
said,  "  how  I  regret  that  Mrs.  Wenham  and  myself  had  not  accepted 
Mrs.  Crawley's  invitation  to  sup  with  her  !  " 

"  She  asked  you  to  sup  with  her  ? "  Captain  Macmurdo  said. 
I  "After  the  Opera.     Here's  the  note  of  invitation — stop — no, 

\^  •  this  is  another  paper — I  thought  I  had  it,  but  it's  of  no  consequence, 

and  I  pledge  you  my  word  to  the  fact.  If  we  had  come — and  it 
was  only  one  of  Mrs.  Wenham's  headaches  which  prevented  us — she 
suffers  under  them  a  good  deal,  especially  in  the  spring — if  we  had 
come,  and  you  had  returned  home,  there  would  have  been  no  quarrel, 
no  insult,  no  suspicion — and  so  it  is  positively  because  my  poor  wife 
has  a  headache  that  you  are  to  bring  death  down  upon  two  men  of 
honour,  and  plunge  two  or  the  most  excellent  and  ancient  families 
in  the  kingdom  into  disgrace  and  sorrow." 

Mr.  Macmurdo  looked  at  his  principal  with  the  air  of  a  man 
profoundly  puzzled :  and  Rawdon  felt  with  a  kind  of  rage  that  his 

^prey  was  escaping  him.  He  did  not  believe  a  word  of  the  story, 
and  yet,  how  discredit  or  disprove  it  ? 

^  Mr.  Wenham  continued  with  the  same  fluent  oratory,  which  in 
his'  place  in  Parliament  he  had  so  often  practised — "  I  sate  for  an 
hour  or  more  by  Lord  Steyne's  bedside,  beseeching,  imploring  Lord 
Steyne  to  forego  his  intention  of  demanding  a  meeting.  I  pointed 
out  to  him  that  the  circumstances  were  after  all  suspicious — they 
were  suspicious.  I  acknowledge  it, — any  man  in  your  position 
might  have  been  taken  in — I  said  that  a  man  furious  with  jealousy 
is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  madman,  and  should  be  as  such  re- 
garded— that  a  duel  between  you  must  lead  to  the  disgrace  of  all 
parties  concerned — that  a  man  of  his  Lordship's  exalted  station  had 
no  right  in  these  days,  when  the  most  atrocious  revolutionary 
principles,  and  the  most  dangerous  levelling  doctrines  are  preached 
among  the  vulgar,  to  create  a  public  scandal;  and  that,  however 
innocent,  the  common  people  would  insist  that  he  was  guilty.  In 
fine,  I  implored  him  not  to  send  the  challenge." 

"  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  the  whole  story,"  said  Rawdon, 

gi-inding  his  teeth.     "  I  believe  it  a  d lie,  and  that  you're  in  it, 

Mr.  Wenham.  If  the  challenge  don't  come  from  him,  by  Jove  it 
shall  come  from  me." 

Mr.  Wenham  turned  deadly  pale  at  this  savage  interruption  of 
the  Colonel,  and  looked  towards  the  door. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  541 

But  he  found  a  champion  in  Captain  Macmurdo.  That  gentleman 
rose  up  with  an  oath,  and  rebuked  Rawdon  for  his  language.  "  You 
put  the  affair  into  my  hands,  and  you  shall  act  as  I  think  fit,  by  Jove, 
and  not  as  you  do.  You  have  no  r^ht  to  insult  Mr.  Wenham  with 
this  sort  of  language;  and  dammy,  Mr.  Wenham,  you  deserve  an 
apology.  And  as  for  a  challenge  to  Lord  Steyne,  you  may  get  some- 
body else  to  carry  it,  I  won't.  If  my  lord,  after  being  thrashed, 
chooses  to  sit  still,  dammy  let  him.  And  as  for  the  affair  with — 
with  Mrs.  Crawley,  my  belief  is,  there's  nothing  proved  at  all :  that 
your  wife's  innocent,  as  innocent  a«  Mr.  Wenham  says  she  is  :  and 

at  any  rate,  that  you  would  be  a  d fool  not  to  take  the  place  and 

hold  your  tongue." 

"Captain  Macmurdo,  you  speak  like  a  man  of  sense,"  Mr. 
Wenham  cried  out,  immensely  relieved — "  I  forget  any  words  that 
Colonel  Crawley  has  used  in  the  irritation  of  the  moment." 

"  I  thought  you  would,"  Rawdon  said,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Shut  your  mouth,  you  old  stoopid,"  the  Captain  said  good- 
naturedly.     "  Mr.  Wenham  ain't  a  fighting  man  ;  and  quite  right,  too." 

"  This  matter,  in  my  belief,"  the  Steyne  emissary  cried,  "  ought 
to  be  buried  in  the  most  profound  oblivion.  A  word  concerning  it 
should  never  pass  these  doors.  I  speak  in  the  interest  of  my  friend,  as 
well  as  of  Colonel  Crawley,  who  persists  in  considering  me  his  enemy." 

"  I  suppose  Lord  Steyne  won't  talk  about  it  very  much,"  said 
Captain  Macmurdo ;  "  and  I  don't  see  why  our  side  should.  The 
affair  ain't  a  very  pretty  one,  any  way  you  take  it ;  and  the  less  said 
about  it  the  better.  It's  you  are  thrashed,  and  not  us ;  and  if  you 
are  satisfied,  why,  I  think,  we  should  be." 

Mr.  Wenham  took  his  hat,  upon  this,  and  Captain  Macmurdo 
following  him  to  the  door,  shut  it  upon  himself  and  Lord  Steyne's 
agent,  leaving  Rawdon  chafing  within.  When  the  two  were  on  the 
other  side,  Macmurdo  looked  hard  at  the  other  ambassador,  and  with 
an  expression  of  anything  but  respect  on  his  round  jolly  face. 

"  You  don't  stick  at  a  trifle,  Mr.  Wenham,"  he  said. 

"  You  flatter  me.  Captain  Macmurdo,"  answered  the  other,  with 
a  smile.  "  Upon  my  honour  and  conscience  now,  Mrs.  Crawley  did 
ask  us  to  sup  after  the  Opera." 

"  Of  course ;  and  Mrs.  Wenham  had  one  of  her  headaches.  I 
say,  I've  got  a  thousand-pound  note  here,  which  I  will  give  you  if 
you  will  give  me  a  receipt,  please ;  and  I  will  put  the  note  up  in  an 
envelope  for  Lord  Steyne.  My  man  shan't  fight  him.  But  we  had 
rather  not  take  his  money." 

"  It  was  all  a  mistake, — all  a  mistake,  my  dear  sir,"  the  other 
said,  with  the  utmost  innocence  of  manner ;  and  was  bowed  down  the 
Club  steps  by  Captain  Macmurdo,  just  as  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  ascended 


$4^  Vai^ity  fair 

them.  There  was  a  slight  acquamtance  between  these  two  gentlemen ; 
and  the  Captain,  going  back  with  the  Baronet  to  the  room  where  the 
latter's  brother  was,  told  Sir  Pitt,  in  confidence,  that  he  had  made 
the  affair  all  right  between  Lord  Steyne  and  the  Colonel. 

Sir  Pitt  was  well  pleased,  of  course,  at  this  intelligence ;  and  con- 
gratulated his  brother  warmly  upon  the  peaceful  issue  of  the  affaii', 
making  appropriate  moral  remarks  upon  the  evils  of  duelling,  and 
the  unsatisfactory  nature  of  that  sort  of  settlement  of  disputes. 

And  after  this  preface,  he  tried  with  all  his  eloquence  to  effect  a 
reconciliation  between  Rawdon  and  his  wife.  He  recapitulated  the 
statements  which  Becky  had  made,  pointed  out  the  probabilities  of 
their  truth,  and  asserted  his  own  belief  in  her  innocence. 

But  Rawdon  would  not  hear  of  it.  "  She  has  kep  money  con- 
cealed from  me  these  ten  years,"  he  said.  "  She  swore,  last  night 
only,  she  had  none  from  Steyne.  She  knew  it  was  all  up,  directly  I 
found  it.  If  she's  not  guilty,  Pitt,  she's  as  bad  as  guilty ;  and  I'll 
never  see  her  again, — never."  His  head  sank  down  on  his  chest  as 
he  spoke  the  words ;  and  he  looked  quite  broken  and  sad. 

"  Poor  old  boy  !  "  Macmurdo  said,  shaking  his  head. 

Rawdon  Crawley  resisted  for  some  time  the  idea  of  taking  the 
place  which  had  been  procured  for  him  by  so  odious  a  patron  :  and 
was  also  for  removing  the  boy  from  the  school  where  Lord  Steyne's 
interest  had  placed  him.  He  was  induced,  however,  to  acquiesce  in 
these  benefits  by  the  entreaties  of  his  brother  and  Macmurdo :  but 
mainly  by  the  latter  pointing  out  to  him  what  a  fury  Steyne  would 
be  in,  to  think  that  his  enemy's  fortune  was  made  through  his 
means. 

When  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  came  abroad  after  his  accident,  the 
Colonial  Secretary  bowed  up  to  him  and  congratulated  himself  and 
the  Service  upon  having  made  so  excellent  an  appointment.  These 
congratulations  were  received  with  a  degree  of  gratitude  which  may 
be  imagined  on  the  part  of  Lord  Steyne. 

The  secret  of  the  rencontre  between  him  and  Colonel  Crawley 
/  was  buried  in  the  profoundest  oblivion,  as  Wenham  said ;  that  is, 
l)y  the  seconds  and  the  principals.  But  before  that  evening  was 
over  it  was  talked  of  at  fifty  dinner-tables  in  Vanity  Fair.  Little 
\  Cackleby  himself  went  to  seven  evening  parties,  and  told  the  story 
with  comments  and  emendations  at  each  place.  How  Mrs.  Washing- 
ton White  revelled  in  it !  The  Bishopess  of  Eahng  was  shocked 
beyond  expression :  the  Bishop  went  and  wrote  his  name  down  in 
the  visiting-book  at  Gaunt  House  that  very  day.  Little  Southdown 
was  sorry  :  so  you  may  be  sure  was  his  sister  Lady  Jane,  very  sorry. 
Lady  Southdown  wrote  it  off  to  her  other  daughter  at  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope.     It  was  town-talk  for  at  least  three  days,  and  was  only 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  543 

kept  out  of  the  newspapers  by  the  exertions  of  Mr.  Wagg,  acting 
upon  a  hint  from  Mr.  Wenham. 

The  bailiffs  and  brokers  seized  upon  poor  Raggles  in  Curzon 
Street,  and  the  late  fair  tenant  of  that  poor  little  mansion  was  in 
the  meanwhile — where  1  Who  cared  1  Who  asked  after  a  day  or 
two  ?  Was  she  guilty  or  not  1  We  all  know  how  charitable  the 
world  is,  and  how  the  verdict  of  Vanity  Fair  goes  when  there  is  a 
doubt.  Some  people  said  she  had  gone  to  Naples  in  pursuit  of  Lord 
Steyne ;  whilst  others  averred  that  his  Lordship  quitted  that  city, 
and  fled  to  Palermo  on  hearing  of  Becky's  arrival ;  some  said  she 
was  living  in  Bierstadt,  and  had  become  a  dame  d^honneur  to  the 
Queen  of  Bulgaria ;  some  that  she  was  at  Boulogne ;  and  others,  at 
a  boarding-house  at  Cheltenham. 

Rawdon  made  her  a  tolerable  annuity ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that 
she  was  a  woman  who  could  make  a  little  money  go  a  great  way,  as 
the  saying  is.  He  would  have  paid  his  debts  on  leaving  England, 
could  he  have  got  any  Insurance  Office  to  take  his  life ;  but  the 
climate  of  Coventry  Island  was  so  bad  that  he  could  borrow  no 
money  on  the  strength  of  his  salary.  He  remitted,  however,  to  his 
brother  punctually,  and  wrote  to  his  little  boy  regularly  every  mail. 
He  kept  Macmurdo  in  cigars;  and  sent  over  quantities  of  shells, 
cayenne  pepper,  hot  pickles,  guava  jelly,  and  colonial  produce  to 
Lady  Jane.  He  sent  his  brother  home  the  Swamp  Town  Gazette, 
in  which  the  new  Governor  was  praised  with  immense  enthusiasm ; 
whereas  the  Swamp  Town  Sentinel,  whose  wife  was  not  asked  to 
Government  House,  declared  that  his  Excellency  was  a  tyrant,  com- 
pared to  whom  Nero  was  an  enlightened  philanthropist.  Little 
Rawdon  used  to  like  to  get  the  papers  and  read  about  his  Excellency. 

His  mother  never  made  any  movement  to  see  the  child.  He 
went  home  to  his  aunt  for  Sundays  and  holidays ;  he  soon  knew 
every  bird's  nest  about  Queen's  Crawley,  and  rode  out  with  Sir 
H\iddlestone's  hounds,  which  he  admired  so  on  his  first  well-remem- 
bered visit  to  Hampshire. 


CHAPTER  LVI 
GEORGY  IS  MADE  A   GENTLEMAN 

GEORGY  OSBORNE  was  now  fairly  established  in  his  grand^ 
father's  mansion  in  Russell  Square  :  occupant  of  his  father's 
room  in  the  house,  and  heir-apparent  of  all  the  splendours 
there.  The  good  looks,  gallant  bearing,  and  gentlemanlike  appear- 
ance of  the  boy  won  the  grandsire's  heart  for  him.  Mr.  Osborne 
was  as  proud  of  him  as  ever  he  had  been  of  the  elder  George. 

The  child  had  many  more  luxuries  and  indulgences  than  had 
been  awarded  to  his  father.  Osborne's  commerce  had  prospered 
greatly  of  late  years.  His  wealth  and  importance  in  the  City  had 
very  much  increased.  He  had  been  glad  enough  in  former  days  to 
put  the  elder  George  to  a  good  private  school ;  and  a  commission  in 
the  army  for  his  son  had  been  a  source  of  no  small  pride  to  him  : 
for  little  George  and  his  future  prospects  the  old  man  looked  much 
higher.  He  would  make  a  gentleman  of  the  little  chap,  was  Mr. 
Osborne's  constant  saying  regarding  little  Georgy.  He  saw  him  in 
his  mind's  eye,  a  collegian,  a  parliament-man, — a  Baronet,  perhaps. 
The  old  man  thought  he  would  die  contented  if  he  could  see  his 
grandson  in  a  fair  way  to  such  honours.  He  would  have  none  but 
a  tip-top  college  man  to  educate  him, — none  of  your  quacks  and 
pretenders — no,  no.  A  few  years  before,  he  used  to  be  savage,  and 
inveigh  against  all  parsons,  scholars,  and  the  like, — declaring  that 
they  were  a  pack  of  humbugs,  and  quacks,  that  weren't  fit  to  get 
their  living  but  by  grinding  Latin  and  Greek,  and  a  set  of  super- 
cilious dogs,  that  pretended  to  look  down  upon  British  merchants 
and  gentlemen,  who  could  buy  up  half  a  hundred  of  'em.  He  would 
mourn  now,  in  a  very  solemn  manner,  that  his  own  education  had 
been  neglected,  and  repeatedly  point  out,  in  pompous  orations  to 
Georgy,  the  necessity  and  excellence  of  classical  acquirements. 

When  they  met  at  dinner  the  grandsire  used  to  ask  the  lad  what 
he  had  been  reading  during  the  day,  and  was  greatly  interested  at 
the  report  the  boy  gave  of  his  own  studies ;  pretending  to  under- 
stand little  George  when  he  spoke  regarding  them.  He  made  a 
hundred  blunders,  and  showed  his  ignorance  many  a  time.  It  did 
aot  increase  the  respect  which  the  child  had  for  his  senior.     A  quick 


GEORGY    A    GENTLEMAN, 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  545 

brain  and  a  better  education  elsewhere  showed  the  boy  very  soon 
that  his  gi-andsire  was  a  dullard ;  and  he  began  accordingly  to  com-  / 
mand  him  and  to  look  down  upon  him ;  for  his  previous  education,  i\ 
humble  and  contracted  as  it  had  >een,  had  made  a  much  better 
gentleman  of  Georgy  than  any  plans  of  his  grandfather  could  make 
him.  He  had  been  brought  up  by  a  kind,  weak,  and  tender  woman, 
who  had  no  pride  about  anything  but  about  him,  and  whose  heart 
vv'as  so  pure,  and  whose  bearing  was  so  meek  and  humble,  that  she 
could  not  but  needs  be  a  true  lady.  She  busied  herself  in  gentle 
offices  and  quiet  duties ;  if  she  never  said  brilliant  things,  she  never 
spoke  or  thought  unkind  ones;  guileless  and  artless,  loving  and 
pure,  indeed  how  could  our  poor  little  Amelia  be  other  than  a  real 
gentlewoman  ! 

Young  Georgy  lorded  over  this  soft  and  yielding  nature :  and 
the  contrast  of  its  simplicity  and  delicacy  with  the  coarse  pomposity 
of  the  dull  old  man  with  whom  he  next  came  in  contact,  made  him 
lord  over  the  latter  too.  If  he  had  been  a  Prince  Royal  he  could 
not  have  been  better  brought  up  to  think  well  of  himself. 

Whilst  his  mother  was  yearning  after  him  at  home,  and  I  do 
believe  every  hour  of  the  day,  and  during  most  hours  of  the  sad 
lonely  nights,  thinking  of  him,  this  young  gentleman  had  a  number 
of  pleasures  and  consolations  administered  to  him,  which  made  him 
for  his  part  bear  the  separation  from  Amelia  very  easily.  Little 
boys  who  cry  when  they  are  going  to  school — cry  because  they  are 
going  to  a  very  uncomfortable  place.  It  is  only  a  very  few  who 
weep  from  sheer  affection.  When  you  think  that  the  eyes  of  your 
childhood  dried  at  the  sight  of  a  piece  of  gingerbread,  and  that  a 
plum-cake  was  a  compensation  for  the  agony  of  parting  with  your 
mamma  and  sisters ;  oh  my  friend  and  brother,  you  need  not  be  too 
confident  of  your  own  fine  feelings. 

Well,  then.  Master  George  Osborne  had  every  comfort  and 
luxury  that  a  wealthy  and  lavish  old  grandfather  thought  fit  to 
provide.  The  coachman  was  instructed  to  purchase  for  him  the 
handsomest  pony  which  could  be  bought  for  money ;  and  on  this 
George  was  taught  to  ride,  first  at  a  riding-school,  whence,  after 
having  performed  satisfactorily  without  stirrups,  and  over  the  leap- 
ing-bar,  he  was  conducted  through  the  New  Road  to  Regent's  Park, 
and  then  to  Hyde  Park,  where  he  rode  in  state  with  Martin  the 
coachman  behind  him.  Old  Osborne,  who  took  matters  more  easily 
in  the  City  now,  where  he  left  his  affairs  to  his  jimior  partners, 
would  often  ride  out  with  Miss  0.  in  the  same  fashionable  direction. 
Ab  little  Georgy  came  cantering  up  with  his  dandified  air,  and  his 
heels  down,  his  grandfather  would  nudge  the  lad's  aunt,  and  say, 
"Look,  Miss  0."     And  he  would  laugh,  and  his  face  would  grow 


546  VANITY    FAIR 

red  with  pleasm-e,  as  he  nodded  out  of  the  window  to  the  boy,  as 
the  groom  saluted  the  carriage,  and  the  footman  saluted  Master 
George.  Here  too  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Frederick  Bullock  (whose  chariot 
might  daily  be  seen  in  the  Ring,  with  bullocks  or  emblazoned  on  the 
panels  and  harness,  and  three  pasty-faced  little  Bullocks,  covered  with 
cockades  and  feathers,  staring  from  the  windows), — Mrs.  Frederick 
Bullock,  I  say,  flung  glances  of  the  bitterest  hatred  at  the  little 
upstart  as  he  rode  by  with  his  hand  on  his  side  and  his  hat  on  one 
ear,  as  proud  as  a  lord. 

Though  he  was  scarcely  eleven  years  of  age.  Master  George 
wore  straps,  and  the  most  beautiful  little  boots  like  a  man.  He 
had  gilt  spurs,  and  a  gold-headed  whip,  and  a  fine  pin  in  his  hand- 
kerchief; and  the  neatest  little  kid  gloves  which  Lamb's  Conduit 
Street  could  furnish.  His  mother  had  given  him  a  couple  of  neck- 
cloths, and  carefully  hemmed  and  made  some  little  shirts  for  him ; 
but  when  her  Samuel  came  to  see  the  widow,  they  were  replaced  by 
much  finer  linen.  He  had  little  jewelled  buttons  in  the  lawn  shirt- 
fronts.  Her  humble  presents  had  been  put  aside — I  believe  Miss 
Osborne  had  given  them  to  the  coachman's  boy.  Amelia  tried  to 
think  she  was  pleased  at  the  change.  Indeed,  she  was  happy  and 
charmed  to  see  the  boy  looking  so  beautiful. 

She  had  had  a  little  black  profile  of  him  done  for  a  shilling; 
and  this  was  hung  up  by  the  side  of  another  portrait  over  her  bed. 
One  day  the  boy  came  on  his  accustomed  visit,  galloping  down  the 
little  street  at  Brompton,  and  bringing,  as  usual,  all  the  inhabitants 
to  the  windows  to  admire  his  splendour,  and  with  great  eagerness, 
and  a  look  of  triumph  in  his  face,  he  pulled  a  case  out  of  his  great- 
coat— (it  was  a  natty  white  greatcoat,  with  a  cape  and  a  velvet 
collar) — pulled  out  a  red  morocco  case,  which  he  gave  her. 

"I  bought  it  with  my  own  money.  Mamma,"  he  said.  "I 
thought  you'd  like  it." 

Amelia  opened  the  case,  and  giving  a  little  cry  of  delighted 
affection,  seized  the  boy  and  embraced  him  a  hundred  times.  It 
was  a  miniature  of  himself,  very  prettily  done  (though  not  half 
handsome  enough,  we  may  be  sure,  the  widow  thought).  His 
grandfather  had  wished  to  have  a  picture  of  him  by  an  artist  whose 
works,  exhibited  in  a  shop-window  in  Southampton  Row,  had 
caught  the  old  gentleman's  eyes;  and  George,  who  had  plenty  of 
money,  bethought  him  of  asking  the  painter  how  much  a  copy  of 
the  little  portrait  would  cost,  saying  that  he  would  pay  for  it  out  of 
his  own  money,  and  that  he  wanted  to  give  it  to  his  mother.  The 
pleased  painter  executed  it  for  a  small  price ;  and  old  Osborne  him- 
self, when  he  heard  of  the  incident,  growled  out  his  satisfaction,  and 
gave  the  boy  twice  as  many  sovereigns  as  he  paid  for  the  miniature. 


6^ 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  547 

But  what  was  the  grandfather's  pleasure  compared  to  Amelia's 
ecstasy  1  That  proof  of  the  boy's  affection  charmed  her  so,  that 
she  thought  no  child  in  the  world  was  Uke  hers  for  goodness.  For 
long  weeks  after,  the  thought  of  l>is  love  made  her  happy.  She 
slept  better  with  the  picture  under  her  pillow  ;  and  how  many  many  -"^  '^^ 
times  did  she  kiss  it,  and  weep  and  pray  over  it !  A  small  kindness  \  \y^ 
from  those  she  loved  made  that  timid  heart  grateful.     Since  her  \  ^y> 

parting  with  George  she  had  had  no  such  joy  and  consolation.  J 

At  his  new  home  Master  George  ruled  like  a  lord  :  at  dinner  he 
invited  the  ladies  to  drink  wine  with  the  utmost  coolness,  and  took 
off  his  champagne  in  a  way  which  charmed  his  old  grandfather. 
"  Look  at  him,"  the  old  man  would  say,  nudging  his  neighbour, 
with  a  delighted  purple  face,  "  did  you  ever  see  such  a  chap  ? 
Lord,  lord !  he'll  be  ordering  a  dressing-case  next,  and  razors  to 
shave  with  ;  I'm  blessed  if  he  won't." 

The  antics  of  the  lad  did  not,  however,  delight  Mr.  Osborne's 
friends  so  much  as  they  pleased  the  old  gentleman.  It  gave  Mr. 
Justice  Coffin  no  pleasure  to  hear  Georgy  cut  into  the  conversation 
and  spoil  his  stories.  Colonel  Fogey  was  not  interested  in  seeing 
the  little  boy  half  tipsy.  Mr.  Serjeant  Toffy's  lady  felt  no  particular 
gratitude,  when,  with  a  twist  of  his  elbow,  he  tilted  a  glass  of  port 
wine  over  her  yellow  satin,  and  laughed  at  the  disaster  :  nor  was 
she  better  pleased,  although  old  Osborne  was  highly  delighted,  when 
Georgy  "  whopped "  her  third  boy  (a  young  gentleman  a  year 
older  than  Georgy,  and  by  chance  home  for  the  holidays  from 
Dr.  Tickleus's  at  Ealing  School)  in  Russell  Square.  George's 
grandfather  gave  the  boy  a  couple  of  sovereigns  for  that  feat,  and 
promised  to  reward  him  further  for  every  boy  above  his  own  size 
and  age  whom  he  whopped  in  a  similar  manner.  It  is  difficult  to 
say  what  good  the  old  man  saw  in  these  combats ;  he  had  a  vague 
notion  that  quarrelling  made  boys  hardy,  and  that  tyranny  was  a 
useful  accomplishment  for  them  to  learn.  English  youth  have  been 
so  educated  time  out  of  mind,  and  we  have  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  ai)ologists  and  admirers  of  injustice,  misery,  and  brutality,  as 
perpetrated  among  children.  Flushed  with  praise  and  victory  over 
Master  Toffy,  George  wished  naturally  to  pursue  his  conquests 
further,  and  one  day  as  *he  was  strutting  about  in  prodigiously 
dandified  new  clothes,  near  St.  Pancras,  and  a  young  baker's  boy 
made  sarcastic  comments  upon  his  appearance,  the  youthful  patri- 
cian pulled  off  his  dandy  jacket  with  great  spirit,  and  giving  it  in 
charge  to  the  friend  who  accompanied  him  (Master  Todd,  of  Great 
Coram  Street,  Russell  Square,  son  of  the  junior  partner  of  the  house 
of  Osborne  &  Co.) — George  tried  to  whop  the  little  baker.  But 
the  chances  of  war  were  unfavourable  this   time,   and  the  little 


548  VANITY    FAIR 

baker  whopped  Georgy  :  who  came  home  with  a  rueful  black  eye 
and  all  his  fine  shirt  frill  dabbled  with  the  claret  drawn  from  his 
own  little  nose.  He  told  his  grandfather  that  he  had  been  in 
combat  with  a  giant ;  and  frightened  his  poor  mother  at  Brompton 
with  long,  and  by  no  means  authentic,  accounts  of  the  battle. 

This  young  Todd,  of  Coram  Street,  Russell  Square,  was  Master 
George's  great  friend  and  admirer.  They  both  had  a  taste  for 
painting  theatrical  characters;  for  hardbake  and  raspberry  tarts; 
for  sliding  and  skating  in  the  Regent's  Park  and  the  Serpentine, 
when  the  weather  permitted ;  for  going  to  the  play,  whither  they 
were  often  conducted  by  Mr.  Osborne's  orders,  by  Rowson,  Master 
George's  appointed  body-servant;  with  whom  they  sate  in  great 
comfort  in  the  pit. 

In  the  company  of  this  gentleman  they  visited  all  the  principal 
theatres  of  the  metropolis — knew  the  names  of  all  the  actors  from 
Drury  Lane  to  Sadler's  Wells ;  and  performed,  indeed,  many  of  the 
plays  to  the  Todd  family  and  their  youthful  friends,  with  West's 
famous  characters,  on  their  pasteboard  theatre.  Rowson,  the  foot- 
man, who  was  of  a  generous  disposition,  would  not  unfrequently, 
when  in  cash,  treat  his  young  master  to  oysters  after  the  play,  and 
to  a  glass  of  rum-shrub  for  a  nightcap.  We  may  be  pretty  certain 
that  Mr.  Rowson  profited  in  his  turn,  by  his  young  master's  liberality 
and  gratitude  for  the  pleasures  to  which  the  footman  inducted  him. 

A  famous  tailor  from  the  West  End  of  the  town, — Mr.  Osborne 
would  have  none  of  your  City  or  Holbom  bunglers,  he  said,  for  the 
boy  (though  a  City  tailor  was  good  enough  for  him), — was  summoned 
to  ornament  little  George's  person,  and  was  told  to  spare  no  expense 
in  so  doing.  So,  Mr.  Woolsey,  of  Conduit  Street,  gave  a  loose  to  his 
imagination,  and  sent  the  child  home  fancy  trousers,  fancy  waistcoats, 
and  fancy  jackets  enough  to  fiirnish  a  school  of  little  dandies.  Georgy 
had  little  white  waistcoats  for  evening  parties  and  little  cut  velvet 
waistcoats  for  dinners,  and  a  dear  little  darling  shawl  dressing-gown, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  little  man.  He  dressed  for  dinner  every  day, 
"  like  a  regular  West  End  Swell,"  as  his  grandfather  remarked ;  one 
of  the  domestics  was  aff'ected  to  his  special  service,  attended  him  at 
his  toilette,  answered  his  bell,  and  brought  him  his  letters  always  on 
a  silver  tray. 

Georgy,  after  breakfast,  would  sit  in  the  arm-chair  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  read  the  Morning  Post,  just  like  a  grown-up  ma.n.  "  How 
he  du  dam  and  swear ! "  the  servants  would  cry,  delighted  at  his 
precocity.  Those  who  remembered  the  Captain  his  father,  declared 
Master  George  was  his  Pa  every  inch  of  him.  He  made  the  house 
lively  by  his  activity,  his  imperiousness,  his  scolding,  and  his 
good-nature 


A  NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  549 

George's  education  was  confided  to  a  neighbouring  scholar  and 
private  pedagogue  who  "prepared  young  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
for  the  Universities,  the  senate,  and  the  learned  professions  :  whose 
system  did  not  embrace  the  degradin^orporal  severities  still  practised 
at  the  ancient  places  of  education,  and  in  whose  family  the  pupils 
would  find  the  elegances  of  refined  society  and  the  confidence  and 
affection  of  a  home."  It  was  in  this  way  that  the  Reverend  Lawrence 
Veal  of  Hart  Street,  Bloomsbury,  and  Domestic  Chaplain  to  the  Earl 
of  Bareacres,  strove  with  Mrs.  Veal  his  wife  to  entice  pupils. 

By  thus  advertising  and  pushing  sedulously,  the  Domestic 
Chaplain  and  his  Lady  generally  succeeded  in  having  one  or  two 
scholars  by  them :  who  paid  a  high  figure,  and  were  thought  to  be 
in  uncommonly  comfortable  quarters.  There  was  a  large  West 
Indian,  whom  nobody  came  to  see,  with  a  mahogany  complexion,  a 
woolly  head,  and  an  exceedingly  dandified  appearance ;  there  was 
another  hulking  boy  of  three-and-twenty  whose  education  had  been 
neglected,  and  whom  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veal  were  to  introduce  into  the 
polite  world ;  there  were  two  sons  of  Colonel  Bangles  of  the  East  India 
Company's  Service :  these  four  sate  down  to  dinner  at  Mrs.  Veal's 
genteel  board,  when  Georgy  was  introduced  to  her  establishment. 

Georgy  was,  like  some  dozen  other  pupils,  only  a  day  boy ;  he 
arrived  in  the  morning  under  the  guardianship  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Rowson,  and  if  it  was  fine,  would  ride  away  in  the  afternoon  on  his 
pony,  followed  by  the  groom.  The  wealth  of  his  grandfather  was 
reported  in  the  school  to  be  prodigious.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Veal  used 
to  compliment  Georgy  upon  it  personally,  warning  him  that  he  was 
destined  for  a  high  station ;  that  it  became  him  to  prepare,  by 
sedulity  and  docility  in  youth,  for  the  lofty  duties  to  which  he 
would  be  called  in  mature  age ;  that  obedience  in  the  child  was  the 
l)est  preparation  for  command  in  the  man ;  and  that  he  therefore 
begged  George  would  not  bring  tofiy  into  the  school,  and  ruin  the 
Ileal th  of  the  Masters  Bangles,  who  had  everything  they  wanted  at 
the  elegant  and  abundant  table  of  Mrs.  Veal. 

With  respect  to  learning,  "  the  Curriculum,"  as  Mr.  Veal  loved 
to  call  it,  was  of  prodigious  extent :  and  the  young  gentlemen  in 
Hart  Street  might  learn  a  something  of  every  known  science.  The 
Rev.  Mr.  Veal  had  an  orrery,  an  electrifying  machine,  a  turning 
lathe,  a  theatre  (in  the  washhouse),  a  chemical  apparatus,  and  what 
he  called  a  select  library  of  all  the  works  of  the  best  authors  of 
ancient  and  modem  times  and  languages.  He  took  the  boys  to 
the  British  Museum,  and  descanted  upon  the  antiquities  and  the 
specimens  of  natural  history  there,  so  that  audiences  would  gather 
round  him  as  he  spoke,  and  all  Bloomsbury  highly  admired  him  as 
a  prodigiously  well-informed  man.     And  whenever  he  spoke  (which 


55©  VANITY    FAIR 

he  did  almost  always),  he  took  care  to  produce  the  very  finest  and 
longest  words  of  which  the  vocabulary  gave  him  the  use ;  rightly 
judging,  that  it  was  as  cheap  to  employ  a  handsome,  large,  and 
sonorous  epithet,  as  to  use  a  little  stingy  one. 

Thus  he  would  say  to  George  in  school,  *'I  observed  on  my 
return  home  from  taking  the  indulgence  of  an  evening's  scientific 
conversation  with  my  excellent  friend  Doctor  Bulders  —  a  true 
archseologian,  gentlemen,  a  true  archseologian— that  the  windows 
of  your  venerated  grandfather's  almost  princely  mansion  in  Russell 
Square  were  illuminated  as  if  for  the  purposes  of  festivity.  Am  I 
right  in  my  conjecture,  that  Mr.  Osborne  entertained  a  society  of 
chosen  spirits  round  his  sumptuous  board  last  night  1 " 

Little  Georgy,  who  had  considerable  humour,  and  used  to  mimic 
Mr.  Veal  to  his  face  with  great  spirit  and  dexterity,  would  reply, 
that  Mr.  V.  was  quite  correct  in  his  surmise. 

"  Then  those  friends  who  had  the  honour  of  partaking  of  Mr. 
Osborne's  hospitality,  gentlemen,  had  no  reason,  I  will  lay  any 
wager,  to  complain  of  their  repast.  I  myself  have  been  more  than 
once  so  favoured.  (By  the  way.  Master  Osborne,  you  came  a  little 
late  this  morning,  and  have  been  a  defaulter  in  this  respect  more 
than  once.)  I  myself,  I  say,  gentlemen,  humble  as  I  am,  have  been 
found  not  unworthy  to  sh^re  Mr.  Osborne's  elegant  hospitality. 
And  though  I  have  feasted  with  the  great  and  noble  of  the  world 
— for  I  presume  that  I  may  call  my  excellent  friend  and  patron, 
the  Right  Honourable  George  Earl  of  Bareacres,  one  of  the  number 
— yet  I  assure  you  that  the  board  of  the  British  merchant  was 
to  the  full  as  richly  served,  and  his  reception  as  gratifying  and 
noble.  Mr.  Bluck,  sir,  we  will  resume,  if  you  please,  that  passage 
of  Eutropius,  which  was  interrupted  by  the  late  amval  of  Master 
Osborne." 

To  this  great  man  George's  education  was  for  some  time  en- 
trusted. Amelia  was  bewildered  by  his  phrases,  but  thought  him 
a  prodigy  of  learning.  That  poor  widow  made  friends  of  Mrs.  Veal, 
for  reasons  of  her  own.  She  liked  to  be  in  the  house,  and  see 
Georgy  coming  to  school  there.  She  liked  to  be  asked  to  Mrs. 
Veal's  conversazioni,  which  took  place  once  a  month  (as  you  were 
informed  on  pink  cards,  with  A6HNH  engraved  on  them),  and 
where  the  professor  welcomed  his  pupils  and  their  friends  to  weak 
tea  and  scientific  conversation.  Poor  little  Amelia  never  missed 
one  of  these  entertainments,  and  thought  them  delicious  so  long  as 
she  might  have  Georgy  sitting  by  her.  And  she  would  walk  from 
Brompton  in  any  weather,  and  embrace  Mrs.  Veal  with  tearful 
gratitude  for  the  delightful  evening  she  had  passed,  when,  the 
company  having  retired  and  Georgy  gone  off  with  Mr.  Rowson,  his 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  551 

attendant,  poor  Mrs.  Osborne  put.  on  her  cloaks  and  her  shawls 
preparatory  to  walking  home. 

As  for  the  learning  which  Georgy  imbibed  under  this  valuable 
master  of  a  hundred  sciences,  to  judge  from  the  weekly  reports 
which  the  lad  took  home  to  his  grandfather,  his  progress  was  re- 
markable. The  names  of  a  score  or  more  of  desirable  branches 
of  knowledge  were  printed  in  a  table,  and  the  pupil's  progress  in 
each  was  marked  by  the  professor.  In  Greek  Georgy  was  pro- 
nounced aristos,  in  Latin  ojitimus,  in  French  tres  hien,  and  so 
forth ;  and  everybody  had  prizes  for  everything  at  the  end  of  the 
year.  Even  Mr.  Swartz,  the  woolly-headed  young  gentleman,  and 
half-brother  to  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Mac  Mull,  and  Mr.  Bluck,  the 
"neglected  young  pupil  of  three-and-twenty  from  the  agricultural 
districts,  and  that  idle  young  scapegrace  of  a  Master  Todd  before 
mentioned,  received  little  eighteen-penny  books,  with  "Athene" 
engraved  on  them,  and  a  pompous  Latin  inscription  from  the  pro- 
fessor to  his  young  friends. 

The  family  of  this  Master  Todd  were  hangers-on  of  the  house 
of  Osborne.  The  old  gentleman  had  advanced  Todd  from  being  a 
clerk  to  be  a  junior  partner  in  his  establishment. 

Mr.  Osborne  was  the  godfather  of  young  Master  Todd  (who  in 
subsequent  life  wrote  Mr.  Osborne  Todd  on  his  cards,  and  became 
a  man  of  decided  fashion),  while  Miss  Osborne  had  accompanied 
Miss  Maria  Todd  to  the  font,  and  gave  her  prot^g^e  a  prayer-book, 
a  collection  of  tracts,  a  volume  of  very  Low  Church  poetry,  or  some 
such  memento  of  her  goodness,  every  year.  Miss  0.  drove  the 
Todds  out  in  her  carriage  now  and  then :  when  they  were  ill,  her 
footman,  in  large  plush  smalls  and  waistcoat,  brought  jellies  and 
delicacies  from  Russell  Square  to  Coram  Street.  Coram  Street 
trembled  and  looked  up  to  Russell  Square  indeed ;  and  Mrs.  Todd, 
who  had  a  pretty  hand  at  cutting  out  paper  trimmings  for  haunches 
of  mutton,  and  could  make  flowers,  ducks,  &c.,  out  of  turnips  and 
carrots  in  a  very  creditable  manner,  would  go  to  "  the  Square,"  as 
it  was  called,  and  assist  in  the  preparations  incident  to  a  great 
dinner,  without  even  so  much  as  thinking  of  sitting  down  to  the 
banquet.  If  any  guest  failed  at  the  eleventh  hour,  Todd  was  asked 
to  dine.  Mrs.  Todd  and  Maria  came  across  in  the  evening,  slipped 
in  with  a  muffled  knock,  and  were  in  the  drawing-room  by  the 
time  Miss  Osborne  and  the  ladies  under  her  convoy  reached  that 
apartment ;  and  ready  to  fire  off  duets  and  sing  until  the  gentlemen 
came  up.  Poor  Maria  Todd ;  poor  young  lady  !  How  she  had  to 
work  and  thrum  at  these  duets  and  sonatas  in  the  Street,  before 
they  appeared  in  public  in  the  Square  ! 

Thus  it  seemed  to  be  decreed  by  fate,   that  Georgy  was  to 


V 


55*  VANITY    FAIR 

domineer  over  everybody  with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  and  that 
friends,  relatives,  and  domestics  were  all  to  bow  the  knee  before  the 
little  fellow.  It  must  be  owned  that  he  accommodated  himself  very 
willingly  to  this  arrangement.  Most  people  do  so.  And  Georgy 
liked  to  play  the  part  of  master,  and  perhaps  had  a  natural  aptitude 
for  it. 

In  Russell  Square  everybody  was  afraid  of  Mr.  Osborne,  and_ 
Mr.  Osborne  was  afraid  of  Georgy.  The  boy's  dashing  manners, 
and' offhand"  "rattle  about  books  and  learning,  his  likeness  to  his 
father  (dead  unreconciled  in  Brussels  yonder),  awed  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  gave  the  young  boy  the  mastery.  The  old  man  would 
start  at  some  hereditary  feature  or  tone  unconsciously  used  by  the 
little  lad,  and  fancy  that  George's  father  was  again  before  him.  He 
tried  by  indulgence  to  the  grandson  to  make  up  for  harshness  to  the 
elder  George.  People  were  surprised  at  his  gentleness  to  the  boy. 
He  growled  and  swore  at  Miss  Osborne  as  usual :  and  would  smile 
when  George  came  down  late  for  breakfast. 

Miss  Osborne,  George's  aunt,  was  a  faded  old  spinster,  broken 
down  by  more  than  forty  years  of  dulness  and  coarse  usage.  It 
was  easy  for  a  lad  of  spirit  to  master  her.  And  whenever  George 
wanted  anything  from  her,  from  the  jam-pots  in  her  cupboards,  to 
the  cracked  and  dry  old  colours  in  her  paint-box  (the  old  paint-box 
which  she  had  had  when  she  was  a  pupil  of  Mr.  Smee,  and  was 
still  almost  young  and  blooming),  Georgy  took  possession  of  the 
object  of  his  desire,  which  obtained,  he  took  no  further  notice  of 
his  aunt. 

For  his  friends  and  cronies,  he  had  a  pompous  old  schoolmaster, 
who  flattered  him,  and  a  toady,  his  senior,  whom  he  could  thrash. 
It  was  dear  Mrs.  Todd's  delight  to  leave  him  with  her  youngest 
daughter,  Rosa  Jemima,  a  darling  child  of  eight  years  old.  The 
little  pair  looked  so  well  together,  she  would  say  (but  not  to  the 
folks  in  "  the  Square,"  we  may  be  sure), — "  Who  knows  what 
might  happen  %  Don't  they  make  a  pretty  little  couple  ? "  the  fond 
mother  thought. 

The  broken-spirited,  old  maternal  grandfather  was  Ukewise 
subject  to  the  little  tyrant.  He  could  not  help  respecting  a  lad 
who  had  such  fine  clothes,  and  rode  with  a  groom  behind  him. 
Georgy,  on  his  side,  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  hearing  coarse 
abuse  and  vulgar  satire  levelled  at  John  Sedley,  by  his  pitiless  old 
enemy,  Mr.  Osborne.  Osborne  used  to  call  the  other  the  old 
pauper,  the  old  coal-man,  the  old  bankrupt,  and  by  many  other 
such  names  of  brutal  contumely.  How  was  little  George  to  respect 
a  man  so  prostrate  %  A  few  months  after  he  was  with  his  paternal 
grandfather,  Mrs.  Sedley  died.     There  had  been  little  love  between 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  553 

Jier  and  the  child.  He  did  not  care  to  show  much  grief.  He  came 
down  to  visit  his  mother  in  a  fine  new  suit  of  mourning,  and  was 
very  angry  that  he  could  not  go  to  a  play  upon  which  he  had  set 
his  heart.  ^ 

The  illness  of  that  old  lady  had  been  the  occupation  and 
perhaps  the  safeguard  of  Amelia.  What  do  men  know  about 
women's  martyrdoms  1  We  should  go  mad  had  we  to  endure  "the 
hundredth  part  of  those  daily  pains  which  are  meekly  borne  by 
many  women.  Ceaseless  slavery  meeting  with  no  reward  ;  constant 
gentleness  and  kindness  met  by  cruelty  as  constant ;  love,  labour, 
patience,  watchfulness,  without  even  so  much  as  the  acknowledgment 
of  a  good  word ;  all  this,  how  many  of  them  have  to  bear  in  quiet, 
and  appear  abroad  with  cheerful  faces  as  if  they  felt  nothing. 
Tender  slaves  that  they  are,  they  must  needs  be  hypocrites  and 
weak. 

From  her  chair  Amelia's  mother  had  taken  to  her 'bed,  which 
she  had  never  left :  and  from  which  Mrs.  Osborne  herself  was  never 
absent  except  when  she  ran  to  see  George.  The  old  lady  grudged 
her  even  those  rare  visits ;  she,  who  had  been  a  kind,  smiling,  good- 
natured  mother  once,  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity,  but  whom 
poverty  and  infirmities  had  broken  down.  Her  illness  or  estrange- 
ment did  not  afiect  Amelia.  They  rather  enabled  her  to  support 
the  other  calamity  under  which  she  was  suffering,  and  from  the 
thoughts  of  which  she  was  kept  by  the  ceaseless  calls  of  the  invalid. 
Amelia  bore  her  harshness  quite  gently ;  smoothed  the  uneasy 
pillow;  was  always  ready  with  a  soft  answer  to  the  watchful 
querulous  voice ;  soothed  the  sufferer  with  words  of  hope,  such  as 
her  pious  simple  heart  could  best  feel  and  utter,  and  closed  the  eyes 
that  had  once  looked  so  tenderly  upon  her. 

Then  all  her  time  and  tenderness  were  devoted  to  the  consola- 
tion and  comfort  of  the  bereaved  old  father,  who  was  stunned  by 
the  blow  which  had  befallen  him,  and  stood  utterly  alone  in  the 
world.  His  wife,  his  honour,  his  fortune,  everything  he  loved  best 
had  fallen  away  from  him.  There  was  only  Amelia  to  stand  by  and 
support  with  her  gentle  arms  the  tottering,  heart-broken  old  man. 
We  are  not  going  to  write  the  history :  it  would  be  too  dreary  and 
stupid.     I  can  see  Vanity  Fair  yawning  over  it  cPavance. 

One  day  as-  the  young  gentlemen  were  assembled  in  the  study 
at  the  Rev.  Mr.  Veal's,  and  the  domestic  chaplain  to  the  Right 
Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bareacres  was  spouting  away  as  usual — a 
smart  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door  decorated  with  the  statue  of 
Athene,  and  two  gentlemen  stepped  out.  The  young  Masters 
Bangles  rushed  to  the  window,  with  a  vague  notion  that  their 


I[ 


554  VANITY    FAIR 

father  might  have  arrived  from  Bombay.  The  great  hulking 
scholar  of  three-and-twenty,  who  was  crying  secretly  over  a  passage 
of  Eutropius,  flattened  his  neglected  nose  against  the  panes,  and 
looked  at  the  drag,  as  the  laquais  de  place  sprang  from  the  box  and 
let  out  the  persons  in  the  carriage. 

"  It's  a  fat  one  and  a  thin  one,"  Mr.  Bluck  said,  as  a  thundering 
knock  came  to  the  door. 

Everybody  was  interested,  from  the  domestic  chaplain  himself, 
who  hoped  he  saw  the  fathers  of  some  future  pupils,  down  to 
Master  Georgy,  glad  of  any  pretext  for  laying  his  book  down. 

The  boy  in  the  shabby  livery,  with  the  faded  copper  buttons, 
who  always  thrust  himself  into  the  tight  coat  to  open  the  door, 
came  into  the  study  and  said,  "  Two  gentlemen  want  to  see  Master 
Osborne."  The  professor  had  had  a  trifling  altercation  in  the 
morning  with  that  young  gentleman,  owing  to  a  difference  about  the 
introduction  of  crackers  in  school-time ;  but  his  face  resumed  its 
habitual  expression  of  bland  courtesy,  as  he  said,  "  Master  Osborne, 
I  give  you  full  permission  to  go  and  see  your  carriage  friends, — to 
whom  I  beg  you  to  convey  the  respectful  compliments  of  myself 
and  Mrs.  Veal." 

Georgy  went  into  the  reception-room,  and  saw  two  strangers, 
whom  he  looked  at  with  his  head  up,  in  his  usual  haughty  manner. 
One  was  fat,  with  mustachios,  and  the  other  was  lean  and  long, 
in  a  blue  frock-coat,  with  a  brown  face,  and  a  grizzled  head. 

"  My  God,  how  like  he  is ! "  said  the  long  gentleman,  with  a 
start.     "  Can  you  guess  who  we  are,  George  ? " 

The  boy's  face  flushed  up,  as  it  did  usually  when  he  was  moved, 
and  his  eyes  brightened.  "  I  don't  know  the  other,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  should  think  you  must  be  Major  Dobbin." 

Indeed  it  was  our  old  friend.  His  voice  trembled  with  pleasure 
as  he  greeted  the  boy,  and  taking  both  the  other^s  hands  in  his  own, 
drew  the  lad  to  him. 

"  Your  mother  has  talked  to  you  about  me — has  she  1 "  he  said. 

"That  she  has,"  Georgy  answered,  "hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  times.' 


CHAPTER  LVII 

IT  was  one  of  the  many  causes  for  personal  pride  with  which  old 
Osborne  chose  to  recreate  himself,  that  Sedley,  his  ancient  rival, 
enemy,  and  benefactor,  was  in  his  last  days  so  utterly  defeated 
and  humiliated,  as  to  be  forced  to  accept  pecuniary  obligations  at 
the  hands  of  the  man  who  had  most  injured  and  insulted  him.  The 
successful  man  of  the  world  cursed  the  old  pauper,  and  relieved  him 
from  time  to  time.  As  he  furnished  George  with  money  for  his 
mother,  he  gave  the  boy  to  understand  by  hints,  delivered  in  his 
brutal,  coarse  way,  that  George's  maternal  grandfather  was  but  a 
wretched  old  bankrupt  and  dependant,  and  that  John  Sedley  might 
thank  the  man  to  whom  he  already  owed  ever  so  much  money,  for 
the  aid  which  his  generosity  now  chose  to  administer.  George 
carried  the  pompous  supplies  to  his  mother  and  the  shattered  old 
widower  whom  it  was  now  the  main  business  of  her  life  to  tend  and 
comfort.  The  little  fellow  patronised  the  feeble  and  disappointed 
old  man. 

It  may  have  shown  a  want  of  "  proper  pride  "  in  Amelia  that 
she  chose  to  accept  these  money  benefits  at  the  hands  of  her  father's  , 

enemy.  But  proper  pride  and  this  poor  lady  had  never  liad  muchly  *'*^r^ 
acquaintance  together.  A  disposition  naturally  simple  and  demand-  *"<'*^ 
ing  protection  ;  a  long  course  of  poverty  and  humility,  of  daily 
privations  and  hard  words,  of  kind  offices  and  no  returns,  had  been 
her  lot  ever  since  womanhood  almost,  or  since  her  luckless  marriage 
with  George  Osborne.  You  who  see  your  betters  bearing  up  under 
this  shame  every  day,  meekly  suffering  under  the  slights  of  fortune, 
gentle  and  unpitied,  poor,  and  rather  despised  for  their  poverty,  do 
you  ever  step  down  from  your  prosperity,  and  wash  the  feet  of  these 
poor  wearied  beggars  %  The  very  thought  of  them  is  odious  and  low. 
"There  must  be  classes — there  must  be  rich  and  poor,"  Dives  sayB, 
smacking  his  claret — (it  is  well  if  he  even  sends  the  broken  meat 
out  to  Lazarus  sitting  under  the  window).  Very  true ;  but  think 
how  mysterious  and  often  unaccountable  it  is — that  lottery  of  life 
which  gives  to  this  man  the  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  sends  to  the 
other  rags  for  garments  and  dogs  for  comforters. 
16 


556  VANITY    FAIR 

So  I  must  own,  that  without  much  repining,  on  the  contrary 
with  something  akin  to  gratitude,  Amelia  took  the  crumbs  that  her 
father-in-law  let  drop  now  and  then,  and  with  them  fed  her  own 
parent.  Directly  she  understood  it  to  be  her  duty,  it  was  this 
young  woman's  nature  (ladies,  she  is  but  thirty  still,  and  we  choose 
to  call  her  a  young  woman  even  at  that  age) — it  was,  I  say,  her 
(^nature  to  sacrifice  herself  and  to  fling  all  that  she  had  at  the  feet 
'^Tof  the  beloved  object.  During  what  long  thankless  nights  had  she 
worked  out  her  fingers  for  little  Georgy  whilst  at  home  with  her ; 
what  buffets,  scorns,  privations,  poverties  had  she  endured  for  father 
and  mother !  And  in  the  midst  of  all  these  solitary  resignations 
and  unseen  sacrifices,  she  did  not  respect  herself  any  more  than  the 
world  respected  her ;  but  I  believe  thought  in  her  heart  that  she 
was  a  poor-spirited,  despicable  little  creature,  whose  luck  in  life  was 
only  too  good  for  her  merits.  0  you  poor  women !  0  you  poor 
secret  martyrs  and  victims,  whose  life  i«  a  torture,  who  are  stretched 
on  racks  in  your  bedrooms,  and  who  lay  your  heads  down  on  the 
block  daily  at  the  drawing-room  table  ;  every  man  who  watches 
your  pains,  or  peers  into  those  dark  places  where  the  torture  is 
administered  to  you,  must  pity  you — and — and  thank  God  that  he 
has  a  beard.  I  recollect  seeing,  years  ago,  at  the  prisons  for  idiots 
and  madmen  at  Bicetre,  near  Paris,  a  poor  wretch  bent  down  under 
the  bondage  of  his  imprisonment  and  his  personal  infirmity,  to  whom 
one  of  our  party  gave  a  halfpennyworth  of  snuff  in  a  coi^net  or 
"  screw  "  of  paper.  The  kindness  was  too  much  for  the  poor,  epi- 
leptic creature.  He  cried  in  an  anguish  of  delight  and  gratitude  :  if 
anybody  gave  you  and  me  a  thousand  a  year,  or  saved  our  lives,  we 
could  not  be  so  affected.  And  so,  if  you  properly  tyrannise  over  a 
woman,  you  will  find  a  halfp'orth  of  kindness  act  upon  her,  and  bring 
tears  into  her  eyes,  as  though  you  were  an  angel  benefiting  her. 

Some  such  boons  as  these  were  the  best  which  Fortune  allotted 
to  poor  little  Amelia.  Her  life,  begun  not  unprosperously,  had 
come  down  to  this — to  a  mean  prison  and  a  long,  ignoble  bondage. 
Little  George  visited  her  captivity  sometimes,  and  consoled  it  with 
feeble  gleams  of  encouragement.  Russell  Square  was  the  boundary 
of  her  prison  :  she  might  walk  thither  occasionally,  but  was  always 
back  to  sleep  in  her  cell  at  night ;  to  perform  cheerless  duties  ;  to 
watch  by  thankless  sick-beds ;  to  suffer  the  harassment  and  tyranny 
of  querulous  disappointed  old  age.  How  many  thousands  of  people 
are  there,  women  for  the  most  part,  who  are  doomed  to  endure  this 
long  slavery? — who  are  hospital  nurses  without  wages, — sisters  of 
Charity,  if  you  like,  without  the  romance  and  the  sentiment  of 
sacrifice, — who  strive,  fast,  watch,  and  suffer,  unpitied ;  and  fade 
away  ignobly  and  imknown. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  557 

The  hidden  and  awful  Wisdom  which  apportions  the  destinies 
of  mankind  is  pleased  so  to  humiliate  and  cast  down  the  tender, 
good,  and  wise ;  and  to  set  up  the  selfish,  the  foolish,  or  the  wicked. 
Oh,  be  humble,  my  brother,  in  yotir  prosperity !  Be  gentle  with 
those  who  are  less  lucky,  if  not  more  deserving.  Think,  what  right 
liave  you  to  be  scornful,  whose  virtue  is  a  deficiency  of  temptation, 
whose  success  may  be  a  chance,  whose  rank  may  be  an  ancestor's 
accident,  whose  prosperity  is  very  likely  a  satire. 

They  buried  Amelia's  mother  in  the  churchyard  at  Brompton, 
upon  just  such  a  rainy,  dark  day,  as  Amelia  recollected  when  first 
she  had  been  there  to  marry  George.  Her  little  boy  sate  by  her 
side  in  pompous  new  sables.  She  remembered  the  old  pew-woman 
and  clerk.  Her  thoughts  were  away  in  other  times  as  the  parson 
read.  But  that  she  held  George's  hand  in  her  own,  perhaps  she 
would  have  liked  to  change  places  with  ...  Then,  as  usual,  she 
felt  ashamed  of  her  selfish  thoughts,  and  prayed  inwardly  to  be 
strengthened  to  do  her  duty. 

So  she  determined  with  all  her  might  and  strength  to  try 
and  make  her  old  father  happy.  She  slaved,  toiled,  patched,  and 
mended,  sang  and  played  backgammon,  read  out  the  newspaper, 
cooked  dishes,  for  old  Sedley,  walked  him  out  sedulously  into  Ken- 
sington Gardens  or  the  Brompton  Lanes,  listened  to  his  stories  with 
untiring  smiles  and  affectionate  hypocrisy,  or  sate  musing  by  his 
side  and  communing  with  her  own  thoughts  and  reminiscences,  as 
the  old  man,  feeble  and  querulous,  sunned  himself  on  the  garden 
benches  and  prattled  about  his  wrongs  or  his  sorrows.  What  sad, 
unsatisfactory  thoughts  those  of  the  widow  were  !  The  children 
running  up  and  down  the  slopes  and  broad  paths  in  the  gardens, 
reminded  her  of  George  who  was  taken  from  her :  the  first  George 
was  taken  from  her :  her  selfish,  guilty  love,  in  both  instances,  had 
been  rebuked  and  bitterly  chastised.  She  strove  to  think  it  was 
right  that  she  should  be  so  punished.  She  was  such  a  miserable 
wicked  sinner.     She  was  quite  alone  in  the  world. 

I  know  that  the  account  of  this  kind  of  solitary  imprisonment 
is  insufferably  tedious,  unless  there  is  some  cheerful  or  humorous 
incident  to  enliven  it, — a  tender  gaoler,  for  instance,  or  a  waggish 
commandant  of  the  fortress,  or  a  mouse  to  come  out  and  play  about 
Latude's  beard  and  whiskers,  or  a  subterranean  passage  under  the 
castle,  dug  by  Trenck  with  his  nails  and  a  toothpick  :  the  historian 
lias  no  such  enlivening  incident  to  relate  in  the  narrative  of  Amelia's 
captivity.  Fancy  her,  if  you  please,  during  this  period,  very  sad, 
but  always  ready  to  smile  when  spoken  to ;  in  a  very  mean,  poor, 
not  to  say  vulgar  position  of  life ;  singing  songs,  making  puddings, 


55^  VANITY    FAIR 

playing  cards,  mending  stockings,  for  her  old  father's  benefit.  So, 
never  mind,  whether  she  be  a  heroine  or  no ;  or  you  and  I,  however 
old,  scolding  and  bankrupt ; — may  we  have  in  our  last  days  a  kind 
soft  shoulder  on  which  to  lean,  and  a  gentle  hand  to  soothe  our 
gouty  old  pillows. 

Old  Sedley  grew  very  fond  of  his  daughter  after  his  wife's 
death ;  and  Amelia  had  her  consolation  in  doing  her  duty  by  the 
old  man. 

But  we  are  not  going  to  leave  these  two  people  long  in  such 
a  low  and  ungenteel  station  of  life.  Better  days,  as  far  as  worldly 
prosperity  went,  were  in  store  for  both.  Perhaps  the  ingenious 
reader  has  guessed  who  was  the  stout  gentleman  who  called  upon 
Georgy  at  his  school  in  company  with  our  old  friend  Major  Dobbin. 
It  was  another  old  acquaintance  returned  to  England,  and  at  a 
time  when  his  presence  was  likely  to  be  of  great  comfort  to  his 
relatives  there. 

Major  Dobbin  having  easily  succeeded  in  getting  leave  from  liis 
good-natured  commandant  to  proceed  to  Madras,  and  thence  probably 
to  Europe,  on  urgent  private  affairs,  never  ceased  travelling  night 
and  day  until  he  reached  his  journey's  end,  and  had  directed  his 
march  with  such  celerity,  that  he  arrived  at  Madras  in  a  high  fever. 
His  servants  who  accompanied  him  brought  him  to  the  house  of  the 
friend  with  whom  he  had  resolved  to  stay  until  his  departure  for 
Europe  in  a  state  of  delirium  :  and  it  was  thought  for  many,  many 
days  that  he  would  never  travel  farther  than  the  burying-ground  of 
the  church  of  St.  George's,  where  the  troops  should  fire  a  salvo 
over  his  grave,  and  where  many  a  gallant  officer  lies  far  away  from 
his  home. 

Here,  as  the  poor  fellow  lay  tossing  in  his  fever,  the  people  who 
watched  him  might  have  heard  him  raving  about  Ameha.  The 
idea  that  he  should  never  see  her  again  depressed  him  in  his  lucid 
hours.  He  thought  his  last  day  was  come  ;  and  he  made  his  solemn 
preparations  for  departure  :  setting  his  aff"airs  in  tliis  world  in  order, 
and  leaving  the  little  property  of  which  he  was  possessed  to  those 
whom  he  most  desired  to  benefit.  The  friend  in  whose  house  he 
was  located  witnessed  his  testament.  He  desired  to  be  buried  with 
a  little  brown  hair-chain  which  he  wore  round  his  neck,  and  which, 
if  the  truth  must  be  known,  he  had  got  from  Amelia's  maid  at 
Brussels,  when  the  young  widow's  hair  was  cut  oft',  during  the  fever 
which  prostrated  her  after  the  death  of  George  Osborne  on  the 
plateau  at  Mount  St.  John. 

He  recovered,  rallied,  relapsed  again,  having  undergone  such  a 
process  of  blood-letting  and  calomel  as  showed  the  streng-th  of  his 
original  constitution.     He  was  almost  a  skeleton  when  they  put 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  559 

him  on  board  the  Ramchunder  East  Indiaman,  Captain  Bragg,  from 
Calcutta,  touching  at  Madras ;  and  so  weak  and  prostrate,  that  his 
friend  who  had  tended  him  through  his  illness,  prophesied  that  the 
honest  Major  would  never  survive^^the  voyage,  and  that  he  would 
pass  some  morning,  shrouded  in  flag  and  hammock,  over  the  ship's 
side,  and  carrying  down  to  the  sea  with  him  the  relic  that  he  wore 
at  his  heart.  But  whether  it  was  the  sea  air,  or  the  hope  which 
sprung  up  in  him  afresh,  from  the  day  that  the  ship  spread  her 
canvas  and  stood  out  of  the  roads  towards  home,  our  friend  began 
to  amend,  and  he  was  quite  well  (though  as  gaunt  as  a  greyhound) 
before  they  reached  the  Cape.  "  Kirk  will  be  disappointed  of  his 
majority  this  time,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  :  "he  will  expect  to  find 
himself  gazetted  by  the  time  the  regiment  reaches  home."  For  it 
must  be  premised  that  while  the  Major  was  lying  ill  at  Madras, 
having  made  such  prodigious  haste  to  go  thither,  the  gallant  — th, 
which  had  passed  many  years  abroad,  which  after  its  return  from 
the  West  Indies  had  been  balked  of  its  stay  at  home  by  the 
Waterloo  campaign,  and  had  been  ordered  from  Flanders  to  India, 
had  received  orders  home ;  and  the  Major  might  have  accompanied 
his  comrades,  had  he  chosen  to  wait  for  their  arrival  at  Madras. 

Perhaps  he  was  not  inclined  to  put  himself  in  his  exhausted 
state  again  under  the  guardianship  of  Glorvina.  "I  think  Miss 
O'Dowd  would  have  done  for  me,"  he  said  laughingly,  to  a  fellow- 
passenger,  "if  we  had  had  her  on  board,  and  when  she  had  sunk 
me,  she  would  have  fallen  upon  you,  depend  upon  it,  and  carried 
you  in  as  a  prize  to  Southampton,  Jos,  my  boy." 

For  indeed  it  was  no  other  than  our  stout  friend  who  was  also 
a  passenger  on  board  the  Ramchunder.  He  had  passed  ten  years 
in  Bengal. — Constant  dinners,  tiffins,  pale  ale  and  claret,  the  pro- 
digious labour  of  cutcherry,  and  the  refreshment  of  brandy-pawnee 
which  he  was  forced  to  take  there,  had  their  effect  upon  Waterloo 
Sedley.  A  voyage  to  Europe  was  pronounced  necessary  for  him — 
and  having  served  his  full  time  in  India,  and  had  fine  appointments 
which  had  enabled  him  to  lay  by  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  he 
was  free  to  come  home  and  stay  with  a  good  pension,  or  to  return 
and  resume  that  rank  in  the  service  to  which  his  seniority  and  his 
vast  talents  entitled  him. 

He  was  rather  thinner  than  when  we  last  saw  him,  but  had 
gained  in  majesty  and  solemnity  of  demeanour.  He  had  resumed 
the  mustachios  to  which  his  services  at  Waterloo  entitled  him,  and 
swaggered  about  on  deck  in  a  magnificent  velvet  cap  with  a  gold 
band,  and  a  profrise  ornamentation  of  pins  and  jewellery  about  his 
person.  He  took  breakfast  in  his  cabin,  and  dressed  as  solemnly 
to  appear  on  the  quarter-deck,  as  if  he  were  going  to  turn  out  for 


56o  VAKITY    FAIR 

Bond  Street,  or  the  Course  at  Calcutta.  He  brought  a  native 
servant  with  him,  who  was  his  valet  and  pipe-bearer;  and  who 
wore  the  Sedley  crest  in  silver  on  his  turban.  That  oriental  menial 
had  a  wretched  life  under  the  tyranny  of  Jos  Sedley.  Jos  was  as 
vain  of  his  person  as  a  woman,  and  took  as  long  a  time  at  his 
toilette  as  any  fading  beauty.  The  youngsters  among  the  passengers, 
Young  Chaffers  of  the  150th,  and  poor  little  Ricketts,  coming  home 
after  his  third  fever,  used  to  draw  out  Sedley  at  the  cuddy-table, 
and  make  him  tell  prodigious  stories  about  himself  and  his  exploits 
against  tigers  and  Napoleon.  He  was  great  when  he  visited  the 
Emperor's  tomb  at  Longwood,  when  to  these  gentlemen  and  the 
young  officers  of  the  ship,  Major  Dobbin  not  being  by,  he  described 
the  whole  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  all  but  announced  that  Napoleon 
never  would  have  gone  to  Saint  Helena  at  all  but  for  him,  Jos 
Sedley. 

After  leaving  St.  Helena  he  became  very  generous,  disposing  of 
a  great  quantity  of  ship  stores,  claret,  preserved  meats,  and  great 
casks  packed  with  soda-water,  brought  out  for  his  private  delecta- 
tion. There  were  no  ladies  on  board :  the  Major  gave  the  pas  of 
precedency  to  the  civilian,  so  that  he  was  the  first  dignitary  at 
table ;  and  treated  by  Captain  Bragg,  and  the  officers  of  the  Ram- 
chunder,  with  the  respect  which  his  rank  warranted.  He  disap- 
peared rather  in  a  panic  during  a  two  days'  gale,  in  which  he  had 
the  portholes  of  his  cabin  battened  down ;  and  remained  in  his  cot 
reading  the  "Washerwoman  of  Finchley  Common,"  left  on  board 
the  Eamchunder  by  the  Right  Honourable  the  Lady  Emily  Horn- 
blower,  wife  of  the  Rev.  Silas  Homblower,  when  on  their  passage 
out  to  the  Cape,  where  the  Reverend  gentleman  was  a  missionary : 
but,  for  common  reading,  he  had  brought  a  stock  of  novels  and 
plays  which  he  lent  to  the  rest  of  the  ship,  and  rendered  himself 
agreeable  to  all  by  his  kindness  and  condescension. 

Many  and  many  a  night  as  the  ship  was  cutting  through  the 
roaring  dark  sea,  the  moon  and  stars  shining  overhead,  and  the  bell 
singing  out  the  watch,  Mr.  Sedley  and  the  Major  would  sit  on  the 
quarter-deck  of  the  vessel  talking  about  home,  as  the  Major  smoked 
his  cheroot,  and  the  civilian  puffed  at  the  hookah  which  his  servant 
prepared  for  him. 

In  these  conversations  it  was  wonderful  with  what  perseverance 
and  ingenuity  Major  Dobbin  would  manage  to  bring  the  talk  round 
to  the  subject  of  Amelia  and  her  little  boy.  Jos,  a  little  testy 
about  his  father's  misfortunes  and  unceremonious  applications  to 
him,  was  soothed  down  by  the  Major,  who  pointed  out  the  elder's 
ill  fortunes  and  old  age.  He  would  not  perhaps  like  to  live  with 
the  old  couple  :  whose  ways  and  hours  might  not  agree  with  those 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  561 

of  a  younger  man,  accustomed  to  different  society  (Jos  bowed  at 
this  compliment) :  but,  the  Major  pointed  out,  how  advantageous 
it  would  be  for  Jos  Sedley  to  have  a  house  of  his  own  in  London, 
and  not  a  mere  bachelor's  establi^ment  as  before :  how  his  sister 
Amelia  would  be  the  very  person  to  preside  over  it ;  how  elegant, 
how  gentle  she  was,  and  of  what  refined  good  manners.  He  re- 
counted stories  of  the  success  which  Mrs.  George  Osborne  had  had 
in  former  days  at  Brussels,  and  in  London,  where  she  was  much 
admired  by  people  of  very  great  fashion  :  and  he  then  hinted  how 
becoming  it  would  be  for  Jos  to  send  Georgy  to  a  good  school  and 
make  a  man  of  him ;  for  his  mother  and  her  parents  would  be  sure 
to  spoil  him.  In  a  word,  this  artful  Major  made  the  civilian  ^^ 
promise  to  take  charge  of  Amelia  and  her  unprotected  child.  He 
did  not  know  as  yet  what  events  had  happened  in  the  little  Sedley 
family :  and  how  death  had  removed  the  mother,  and  riches  had 
carried  off  George  from  Amelia.  But  the  fact  is,  that  every  day 
and  always,  this  love-smitten  and  middle-aged  gentleman  was  think- 
ing about  Mrs.  Osborne,  and  his  whole  heart  was  bent  upon  doing  her 
good.  He  coaxed,  wheedled,  cajoled,  and  complimented  Jos  Sedley 
with  a  perseverance  and  cordiality  of  which  he  was  not  aware 
himself,  very  likely ;  but  some  men  who  have  unmanied  sisters  or 
daughters  even,  may  remember  how  uncommonly  agreeable  gentlemen 
are  to  the  male  relations  when  they  are  courting  the  females ;  and 
perhaps  this  rogue  of  a  Dobbin  was  urged  by  a  similar  hypocrisy. 

The  truth  is,  when  Major  Dobbin  came  on  board  the  Ramchunder, 
very  sick,  and  for  the  three  days  she  lay  in  the  Madras  Roads,  he 
did  not  begin  to  rally,  nor  did  even  the  appearance  and  recognition 
of  his  old  acquaintance,  Mr.  Sedley,  on  board  much  cheer  him,  until 
after  a  conversation  which  they  had  one  day,  as  the  Major  was  laid 
languidly  on  the  deck.  He  said  then  he  thought  he  was  doomed  ;  he 
had  left  a  little  something  to  his  godson  in  his  will ;  and  he  trusted 
Mrs.  Osborne  would  remember  him  kindly,  and  be  happy  in  the 
marriage  she  was  about  to  make.  "  Married  1  not  the  least,"  Jos 
answered :  "he  had  heard  from  her :  she  made  no  mention  of  the 
marriage,  and  by  the  way,  it  was  cimous,  she  wrote  to  say  that 
Major  Dobbin  was  going  to  be  married,  and  hoped  that  he  would 
be  happy."  What  were  the  dates  of  Sedley 's  letters  from  Europe  ? 
The  civilian  fetched  them.  They  WTre  two  months  later  than  the 
Major's  ;  and  the  ship's  surgeon  congratulated  himself  upon  the 
treatment  adopted  by  him  towards  his  new  patient,  who  had  been 
consigned  to  shipboard  by  the  Madras  practitioner  with  very  small 
hopes  indeed ;  for,  from  that  day,  the  very  day  that  he  changed  the 
draught.  Major  Dobbin  began  to  mend.  And  thus  it  was  that 
deserving  ofl&cer,  Captain  Kirk,  was  disappointed  of  his  majority. 
z 


562  VANITY    FAIR 

After  they  passed  St.  Helena,  Major  Dobbin's  gaiety  and  strength 
was  such  as  to  astonish  all  his  fellow-passengers.  He  larked  with 
the  midshipmen,  played  single-stick  with  the  mates,  ran  up  the 
shrouds  like  a  boy,  sang  a  comic  song  one  night  to  the  amusement 
of  the  whole  party  assembled  over  their  grog  after  supper,  and 
rendered  himself  so  gay,  lively,  and  amiable,  that  even  Captain 
Bragg,  who  thought  there  was  nothing  in  his  passenger,  and  con- 
sidered he  was  a  poor-spirited  feller  at  first,  was  constrained  to  own 
that  the  Major  was  a  reserved  but  well-informed  and  meritorious 
officer.  *  He  ain't  got  distangy  manners,  dammy,"  Bragg  observed 
to  his  first  mate ;  "  he  wouldn't  do  at  Government  House,  Roper, 
where  his  Lordship  and  Lady  William  was  as  kind  to  me,  and 
shook  hands  with  me  before  the  whole  company,  and  asking  me  at 
dinner  to  take  beer  with  him,  before  the  Commander-in-Chief  him- 
self; he  ain't  got  manners,  but  there's  something  about  him " 

And  thus  Captain  Bragg  showed  that  he  possessed  discrimination  as 
a  man,  as  well  as  ability  as  a  commander. 

But  a  calm  taking  place  when  the  Ramchnnder  was  within  ten 
days'  sail  of  England,  Dobbin  became  so  impatient  and  ill-humoured 
as  to  siu-prise  those  comrades  who  had  before  admired  his  vivacity 
and  good  temper.  He  did  not  recover  until  the  breeze  sprang  up 
again,  and  was  in  a  highly  excited  state  when  the  pilot  came  on 
board.  Good  God,  how  his  heart  beat  as  the  two  friendly  spires 
of  Southampton  came  in  sight ! 


J" 


CHAPTER  LVIII 
017K    FRIEND    THE    MAJOR 

OUR  Major  had  rendered  himself  so  popular  on  board  the 
Ramchunder,  that  when  he  and  Mr.  Sedley  descended  into 
the  welcome  shore-boat  which  was  to  take  them  from  the 
ship,  the  whole  crew,  men  and  officers,  the  great  Captain  Bragg 
himself  leading  off,  gave  three  cheers  for  Major  Dobbin,  who  blushed 
very  much,  and  ducked  his  head  in  token  of  thanks.  Jos,  who  very 
likely  thought  the  cheers  were  for  himself,  took  off  his  gold-laced 
cap  and  waved  it  majestically  to  his  friends,  and  they  were  pulled 
to  shore  and  landed  with  great  dignity  at  the  pier,  whence  they 
proceeded  to  the  Royal  George  Hotel. 

Although  the  sight  of  that  magnificent  round  of  beef,  and  the 
silver  tankard  suggestive  of  real  British  home-brewed  ale  and  porter, 
which  perennially  greet  the  eyes  of  the  traveller  returning  from 
foreign  parts,  who  enters  the  coffee-room  of  the  George,  are  so 
invigorating  and  delightful,  that  a  man  entering  such  a  comfortable 
snug  homely  English  inn,  might  well  like  to  stop  some  days  there, 
yet  Dobbin  began  to  talk  about  a  post-chaise  instantly,  and  was  no 
sooner  at  Southampton  than  he  wished  to  be  on  the  road  to  London. 
Jos,  however,  would  not  hear  of  moving  that  evening.  Why  was 
he  to  pass  a  night  in  a  post-chaise  instead  of  a  great  large  undulating 
downy  feather  bed,  which  was  there  ready  to  replace  the  horrid 
little  narrow  crib  in  which  the  portly  Bengal  gentleman  had  been 
confined  during  the  voyage  ?  He  could  not  think  of  moving  till  his 
baggage  was  cleared,  or  of  travelling  until  he  could  do  so  with  his 
chillum.  So  the  Major  was  forced  to  wait  over  that  night,  and 
despatched  a  letter  to  his  family  announcing  his  arrival ;  entreating 
firom  Jos  a  promise  to  write  to  his  own  friends.  Jos  promised,  but 
didn't  keep  his  promise.  The  Captain,  the  surgeon,  and  one  or 
two  passengers  came  and  dined  with  our  two  gentlemen  at  the  inn ; 
Jos  exerting  himself  in  a  sumptuous  way  in  ordering  the  dinner : 
and  promising  to  go  to  town  the  next  day  with  the  Major.  The 
landlord  said  it  did  his  eyes  good  to  see  Mr.  Sedley  take  off  his  first 
pint  of  porter.  If  I  had  time  and  dared  to  enter  into  digressions, 
I  would  write  a  chapter  about  that  first  pint  of  porter  drunk  upon 


564  VANITY    FAIR 

English  ground.  Ah,  how  good  it  is !  It  is  worth  while  to  leave 
home  for  a  year,  just  to  enjoy  that  one  draught. 

Major  Dobbin  made  his  appearance  the  next  morning  very 
neatly  shaved  and  dressed,  according  to  his  wont.  Indeed,  it  was 
so  early  in  the  morning,  that  nobody  was  up  in  the  house  except 
that  wonderful  Boots  of  an  inn  who  never  seems  to  want  sleep : 
and  the  Major  could  hear  the  snores  of  the  various  inmates  of  the 
house  roaring  through  the  corridors  as  he  creaked  about  in  those 
dim  passages.  Then  the  sleepless  Boots  went  shirking  round  from 
door  to  door,  gathering  up  at  each  the  Bluchers,  Wellingtons, 
Oxonians,  which  stood  outside.  Then  Jos's  native  servant  arose 
and  began  to  get  ready  his  master's  ponderous  dressing  apparatus, 
and  prepare  his  hookah  :  then  the  maidservants  got  up,  and  meeting 
the  dark  man  in  the  passages,  shrieked,  and  mistook  him  for  the 
devil.  He  and  Dobbin  stumbled  over  their  pails  in  the  passages  as 
they  were  scouring  the  decks  of  the  Royal  George.  When  the  first 
unshorn  waiter  appeared  and  unbarred  the  door  of  the  inn,  the 
Major  thought  that  the  time  for  departure  was  arrived,  and  ordered 
a  post-chaise  to  be  fetched  instantly,  that  they  might  set  off. 

He  then  directed  his  steps  to  Mr.  Sedley's  room,  and  opened  the 
curtains  of  the  great  large  family  bed  wherein  Mr.  Jos  was  snoring. 
''Come,  up!  Sedley,"  the  Major  said,  "it's  time  to  be  off;  the 
chaise  will  be  at  the  door  in  half-an-hour." 

Jos  growled  from  under  the  counterpane  to  know  what  the  time 
was ;  but  when  he  at  last  extorted  from  the  blushing  Major  (who 
never  told  fibs,  however  they  might  be  to  his  advantage)  what  was 
the  real  hour  of  the  morning,  he  broke  out  into  a  volley  of  bad 
language,  which  we  will  not  repeat  here,  but  by  which  he  gave 
Dobbin  to  understand  that  he  would  jeopardise  his  soul  if  he  got 
up  at  that  moment,  that  the  Major  might  go  and  be  hanged,  that 
he  would  not  travel  with  Dobbin,  and  that  it  was  most  unkind  and 
ungentlemanlike  to  disturb  a  man  out  of  his  sleep  in  that  way ;  on 
which  the  discomfited  Major  was  obliged  to  retreat,  leaving  Jos  to 
resume  his  interrupted  slumbers. 

The  chaise  came  up  presently,  and  the  Major  would  wait  no 
longer. 

If  he  had  been  an  English  nobleman  travelling  on  a  pleasure 
tour,  or  a  newspaper  courier  bearing  despatches  (government  messages 
are  generally  carried  much  more  quietly),  he  could  not  have  travelled 
more  quickly.  The  post-boys  wondered  at  the  fees  he  flung  amongst 
them.  How  happy  and  green  the  country  looked  as  the  chaise 
whirled  rapidly  from  milestone  to  milestone,  through  neat  country 
towns  where  landlords  came  out  to  welcome  him  with  smiles  and 
bows ;  by  pretty  roadside  inns,  where  the  signs  hung  on  the  elms, 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  $6$ 

and  horses  and  waggoners  were  drinking  under  the  chequered 
shadow  of  the  trees ;  by  old  halls  and  parks ;  rustic  hamlets 
clustered  round  ancient  grey  churches — and  through  the  charming 
friendly  English  landscape  !  Is  th^e  any  in  the  world  like  it  1  To 
a  traveller  returning  home  it  looks  so  kind — it  seems  to  shake  hands 
with  you  as  you  pass  through  it.  Well,  Major  Dobbin  passed 
through  all  this  from  Southampton  to  London,  and  without  noting 
much  beyond  the  milestones  along  the  road.  You  see  he  was  so 
eager  to  see  his  parents  at  Camberwell. 

He  grudged  the  time  lost  between  Piccadilly  and  his  old  haunt 
at  the  Slaughters',  whither  he  drove  faithftilly.  Long  years  had 
passed  since  he  saw  it  last,  since  he  and  George,  as  young  men,  had 
enjoyed  many  a  feast,  and  held  many  a  revel  there.  He  had  now 
passed  into  the  stage  of  old-fellow-hood.  His  hair  was  grizzled,  and 
many  a  passion  and  feeling  of  his  youth  had  grown  grey  in  that 
interval.  There,  however,  stood  the  old  waiter  at  the  door,  in  the 
same  greasy  black  suit,  with  the  same  double  chin  and  flaccid  face, 
with  the  same  huge  bunch  of  seals  at  his  fob,  rattling  his  money  in 
his  pockets  as  before,  and  receiving  the  Major  as  if  he  had  gone 
away  only  a  week  ago.  "  Put  the  Major's  things  in  twenty-three, 
that's  his  room,"  John  said,  exhibiting  not  the  least  surprise. 
"  Roast  fowl  for  your  dinner,  I  suppose.  You  ain't  got  married  1 
They  said  you  was  married— the  Scotch  surgeon  of  yours  was  here. 
No,  it  was  Captain  Humby  of  the  thirty-third,  as  was  quartered 
with  the  — th  in  Injee.  Like  any  warm  water?  What  do  you 
come  in  a  chay  for — ain't  the  coach  good  enough  1 "  And  with  this, 
the  faithful  waiter,  who  knew  and  remembered  every  ofiicer  who 
used  the  house,  and  with  whom  ten  years  were  but  as  yesterday,  led 
the  way  up  to  Dobbin's  old  room,  where  stood  the  great  moreen 
bed,  and  the  shabby  carpet,  a  thought  more  dingy,  and  all  the  old 
black  furniture  covered  with  faded  chintz,  just  as  the  Major  re- 
collected them  in  his  youth. 

He  remembered  George  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
biting  his  nails,  and  swearing  that  the  Governor  must  come  round, 
and  that  if  he  didn't,  he  didn't  care  a  straw,  on  the  day  before  he 
was  married.  He  could  fancy  him  walking  in,  banging  the  door  of 
Dobbin's  room,  and  his  own  hard  by — 

"  You  ain't  got  young,"  John  said,  calmly  surveying  his  friend 
of  former  days. 

Dobbin  laughed.  "Ten  years  and  a  fever  don't  make  a  man 
young,  John,"  he  said.  "  It  is  you  that  are  always  young : — No, 
you  are  always  old." 

"  What  became  of  Captain  Osborne's  widow  1 "  John  said. 
'*Fine   young   fellow   that.      Lord,    how   he   used   to    spend   his 


566  VANITY    FAIR 

money  !  He  never  came  back  after  that  day  he  was  married  from 
here.  He  owes  me  three  pound  at  this  minute.  Look  here,  I  have 
it  in  my  book.  '  April  10,  1815,  Captain  Osborne  :  £3.'  I  wonder 
whether  his  father  would  pay  me,"  and  bo  saying,  John  of  the 
Slaughters'  pulled  out  the  very  morocco  pocket-book  in  which  he 
had  noted  his  loan  to  the  Captain,  upon  a  greasy  faded  page  still 
extant,  with  many  other  scrawled  memoranda  regarding  the  bygone 
frequenters  of  the  house. 

Having  inducted  his  customer  into  the  room,  John  retired  with 
perfect  calmness;  and  Major  Dobbin,  not  without  a  blush  and  a 
grin  at  his  own  absurdity,  chose  out  of  his  kit  the  very  smartest 
and  most  becoming  civil  costume  he  possessed,  and  laughed  at  his 
own  tanned  face  and  grey  hair,  as  he  surveyed  them  in  the  dreary 
little  toilet-glass  on  the  dressing-table. 

"  I'm  glad  old  John  didn't  forget  me,"  he  thought.  "  She'll 
know  me,  too,  I  hope."  And  he  sallied  out  of  the  inn,  bending 
his  steps  once  more  in  the  direction  of  Brompton. 

Every  minute  incident  of  his  last  meeting  with  Amelia  was 
present  to  the  constant  man's  mind  as  he  walked  towards  her  house. 
The  arch  and  the  Achilles  statue  were  up  since  he  had  last  been  in 
Piccadilly ;  a  hundred  changes  had  occurred  which  his  eye  and  mind 
vaguely  noted.  He  began  to  tremble  as  he  walked  up  the  lane  from 
Brompton,  that  well-remembered  lane  leading  to  the  street  where 
she  lived.  Was  she  going  to  be  married  or  not  1  If  he  were  to 
meet  her  with  the  little  boy — Good  God,  what  should  he  do "?  He 
saw  a  woman  coming  to  him  with  a  child  of  five  years  old — was 
that  she  1  He  began  to  shake  at  the  mere  possibility.  When  he 
came  up  to  the  row  of  houses,  at  last,  where  she  lived,  and  to  the 
gate,  he  caught  hold  of  it  and  paused.  He  might  have  heard  the 
thumping  of  his  own  heart.  "  May  God  Almighty  bless  her,  what- 
ever has  happened,"  he  thought  to  himself  "  Psha  !  she  may  be 
gone  from  here,"  he  said,  and  went  in  through  the  gate. 

The  window  of  the  parlour  which  she  used  to  occupy  was  open, 
and  there  were  no  inmates  in  the  room.  The  Major  thought  he 
recognised  the  piano,  though,  with  the  picture  over  it,  as  it  used  to 
be  in  former  days,  and  his  perturbations  were  renewed.  Mr.  Clapp's 
brass  plate  was  still  on  the  door,  at  the  knocker  of  which  Dobbin 
performed  a  summons. 

A  buxom-looking  lass  of  sixteen,  with  bright  eyes  and  pm'ple 
cheeks,  came  to  answer  the  knock,  and  looked  hard  at  the  Major  as 
he  leant  back  against  the  little  porch. 

He  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  could  hardly  falter  out  the 
words — "Does  Mrs.  Osborne  live  here?" 

She  looked  him  hard  in  the  face  for  a  moment — and  then  turn- 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  567 

ing  white  too— said,  "  Lord  bless  me—  it's  Major  Dobbin  !  "  She 
held  out  both  her  hands  shaking — "  Don't  you  remember  me  ? "  she 
said.  "I  used  to  call  you  Major  Sugarplums."  On  which,  and  I 
believe  it  was  for  the  first  time  tliat  he  ever  so  conducted  himself 
in  his  life,  the  Major  took  the  girl  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  She 
began  to  laugh  and  cry  hysterically,  and  calling  out  "Ma,  pa!" 
with  all  her  voice,  brought  up  those  worthy  people,  who  had  already 
been  surveying  the  Major  from  the  casement  of  the  ornamental 
kitchen,  and  were  astonished  to  find  their  daughter  in  the  little 
passage  in  the  embrace  of  a  great  tall  man  in  a  blue  frock-coat  and 
white  duck  trousers. 

"I'm  an  old  friend,"  he  said— -not  without  blushing  though. 
"Don't  you  remember  me,  Mrs.  Clapp,  and  those  good  cakes  you 
used  to  make  for  tea  ^ — Don't  you  recollect  me,  Clapp  ?  I'm  George's 
godfather,  and  just  come  back  from  India."  A  great  shaking  of 
hands  ensued — Mrs.  Clapp  was  greatly  affected  and  delighted ;  she 
called  upon  Heaven  to  interpose  a  vast  many  times  in  that  passage. 

The  landlord  and  landlady  of  the  house  led  the  worthy  Major 
into  the  Sedleys'  room  (whereof  he  remembered  every  single  article 
of  furniture,  from  the  old  brass-ornamented  piano,  once  a  natty  little 
instrument,  Stothard  maker,  to  the  screens  and  the  alabaster  minia- 
ture tombstone,  in  the  midst  of  which  ticked  Mr.  Sedley's  gold 
watch),  and  there,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  lodger's  vacant  arm-chair, 
the  father,,  the  mother,  and  the  daughter,  with  a  thousand  ejacula- 
tory  breaks  in  the  narrative,  informed  Major  Dobbin  of  what  we 
know  already,  but  of  particulars  in  Amelia's  history  of  which  he 
was  not  aware — namely,  of  Mrs.  Sedley's  death,  of  George's  recon- 
cilement with  his  grandfather  Osborne,  of  the  way  in  which  the 
widow  took  on  at  leaving  him,  and  of  other  particulars  of  her  life. 
Twice  or  thrice  he  was  going  to  ask  about  the  marriage  question, 
but  his  heart  failed  him.  He  did  not  care  to  lay  it  bare  to  these 
people.  Finally,  he  was  informed  that  Mrs.  O.  was  gone  to  walk 
with  her  pa  in  Kensington  Gardens,  whither  she  always  went  with 
the  old  gentleman  (who  was  very  weak  and  peevish  now,  and  led 
her  a  sad  life,  though  she  behaved  to  him  like  an  angel,  to  be  sure), 
of  a  fine  afternoon,  after  dinner. 

"I'm  very  much  pressed  for  time,"  the  Major  said,  "and  have 
business  to-night  of  importance.  I  should  like  to  see  Mrs.  Osborne 
though.  Suppose  Miss  Polly  would  come  with  me  and  show  me 
the  way." 

Miss  Polly  was  charmed  and  astonished  at  this  proposal.  She 
knew  the  way.  She  would  show  Major  Dobbin.  She  had  often 
been  with  Mr.  Sedley  when  Mrs.  0.  was  gone — was  gone  Russell 
Square  way  :  and  knew  the  bench  where  he  liked  to  sit.     She 


5(58  VANITY   FAlK 

bounced  away  to  her  apartment,  and  appeared  presently  in  hei* 
best  bonnet  and  her  mamma's  yellow  shawl  and  large  pebble  brooch, 
of  which  she  assumed  the  loan  in  order  to  make  herself  a  worthy 
companion  for  the  Major. 

That  officer,  then,  in  his  blue  frock-coat  and  buckskin  gloves, 
gave  the  young  lady  his  arm,  and  they  walked  away  very  gaily. 
He  was  glad  to  have  a  friend  at  hand  for  the  scene  which  he  dreaded 
somehow.  He  asked  a  thousand  more  questions  from  his  companion 
about  Amelia  :  his  kind  heart  grieved  to  think  that  she  should  have 
had  to  part  with  her  son.  How  did  she  bear  it  1  Did  she  see  him 
often  1  Was  Mr.  Sedley  pretty  comfortable  now  in  a  worldly  point 
of  view  1  Polly  answered  all  these  questions  of  Major  Sugarplums 
to  the  very  best  of  her  power. 

And  in  the  midst  of  their  walk  an  incident  occurred  which, 
though  very  simple  in  its  nature,  was  productive  of  the  greatest 
delight  to  Major  Dobbin.  A  pale  young  man  with  feeble  whiskers 
and  a  stiff  white  neckcloth  came  walking  down  the  lane,  eti  sand- 
wich : — having  a  lady,  that  is,  on  each  arm.  One  was  a  tall  and 
commanding  middle-aged  female,  with  features  and  a  complexion 
similar  to  those  of  the  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England  by 
whose  side  she  marched,  and  the  other  a  stunted  little  woman  with 
a  dark  face,  ornamented  by  a  fine  new  bonnet  and  white  ribbons, 
and  in  a  smart  pelisse,  with  a  rich  gold  watch  in  the  midst  of  her 
person.  The  gentleman,  pinioned  as  he  was  by  these  two  ladies, 
carried  further  a  parasol,  shawl,  and  basket,  so  that  his  arms  were 
entirely  engaged,  and  of  course  he  was  unable  to  touch  his  hat  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  curtsey  with  which  Miss  Mary  Clapp 
greeted  him. 

He  merely  bowed  his  head  in  reply  to  her  salutation,  which  the 
two  ladies  returned  with  a  patronising  air,  and  at  the  same  time 
looking  severely  at  the  individual  in  the  blue  coat  and  bamboo  cane 
who  accompanied  Miss  Polly. 

"Who's  that?"  asked  the  Major,  amused  by  the  gi'oup,  and 
after  he  had  made  way  for  the  three  to  pass  up  the  lane,  Mary 
looked  at  him  rather  roguishly. 

"  That  is  our  curate,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Binny  (a  twitch  from 
Major  Dobbin),  and  his  sister  Miss  B.  Lord  bless  us,  how  she  did 
use  to  worret  us  at  Sunday-school ;  and  the  other  lady,  the  little 
one  with  a  cast  in  her  eye,  and  the  handsome  watch,  is  Mrs.  Binny 
— Miss  Grits  that  was ;  her  pa  was  a  grocer,  and  kept  the  Little 
Original  Gold  Tea  Pot  in  Kensington  Gravel  Pits.  They  were 
married  last  month,  and  are  just  come  back  from  Margate.  She's 
five  thousand  pound  to  her  fortune;  but  her  and  Miss  B.,  who 
made  the  match,  have  quarrelled  already." 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  569 

If  the  Major  had  twitched  before,  he  started  now,  and  slapped 
the  bamboo  on  the  ground  with  an  emphasis  which  made  Miss  Clapp 
cry  "Law,"  and  laugh  too.  He  stood  for  a  moment  silent  with 
open  mouth  looking  after  the  retreating  young  couple,  while  Miss 
Mary  told  their  history ;  but  he  did  not  hear  beyond  the  announce- 
ment of  the  reverend  gentleman's  marriage ;  his  head  was  swimming 
with  felicity.  After  this  rencontre  he  began  to  walk  double  quick 
towards  the  place  of  his  destination ;  and  yet  they  were  too  soon 
(for  he  was  in  a  great  tremor  at  the  idea  of  a  meeting  for  which 
he  had  been  longing  any  time  these  ten  years)  —  through  the 
Brompton  lanes,  and  entering  at  the  little  old  portal  in  Kensington 
Garden  wall. 

"  There  they  are,"  said  Miss  Polly,  and  she  felt  him  again  start 
back  on  her  arm.  She  was  a  confidante  at  once  of  the  whole 
business.  She  knew  the  story  as  well  as  if  she  had  read  it  in 
one  of  her  favourite  novel-books  — "  Fatherless  Fanny,"  or  the 
"Scottish  Chiefs." 

"  Suppose  you  were  to  run  on  and  tell  her,"  the  Major  said. 
Polly  ran  forward,  her  yellow  shawl  streaming  in  the  breeze. 

Old  Sedley  was  seated  on  a  bench,  his  handkerchief  placed  over 
his  knees,  prattling  away  according  to  his  wont,  with  some  old 
story  about  old  times,  to  which  Amelia  had  listened,  and  awarded 
a  patient  smile  many  a  time  before.  She  could  of  late  think  of  her 
own  affairs,  and  smile  or  make  other  marks  of  recognition  of  her 
father's  stories,  scarcely  hearing  a  word  of  the  old  man's  tales.  As 
Mary  came  bouncing  along,  and  Amelia  caught  sight  of  her,  she 
started  up  from  her  bench.  Her  first  thought  was,  that  something 
had  happened  to  Georgy;  but  the  sight  of  the  messenger's  eager 
and  happy  face  dissipated  that  fear  in  the  timorous  mother's 
bosom. 

"  News  !  News  !  "  cried  the  emissary  of  Major  Dobbin.  "  He's 
come  !     He's  come  !  " 

"  Who  is  come  ? "  said  Emmy,  still  thinking  of  her  son. 

"  Look  there,"  answered  Miss  Clapp,  turning  round  and  point- 
ing; in  which  direction  Amelia  looking,  saw  Dobbin's  lean  figure 
and  long  shadow  stalking  across  the  grass.  Amelia  started  in  her 
turn,  blushed  up,  and,  of  course,  began  to  cry.  At  all  this  simple 
little  creature's  fetes,  the  grandes  eaux  were  accustomed  to  play. 

He  looked  at  her — oh,  how  fondly ! — as  she  came  running  towards 
him,  her  hands  before  her,  ready  to  give  them  to  him.  She  wasn't 
changed.  She  was  a  little  pale :  a  little  stouter  in  figure.  Her 
eyes  were  the  same,  the  kind  trustful  eyes.  There  were  scarce 
three  lines  of  silver  in  her  soft  brown  hair.  She  gave  him  both 
her  hands  as  she  looked  up  flushing  and  smiling  through  her  tears 


^ 


^76  VANITY    FAIR 

into  his  honest  homely  face.  He  took  the  two  little  hands  between 
his  two,  and  held  them  there.  He  was  speechless  for  a  moment. 
Why  did  he  not  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  swear  that  he  would 
never  leave  her  ?  She  must  have  yielded  :  she  could  not  but  have 
obeyed  him. 

"  I — I've  another  arrival  to  announce,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Mrs.  Dobbin  1 "  Amelia  said,  making  a  movement  back — 
Why  didn't  he  speak  1 

"  No,"  he  said,  letting  her  hands  go  :  "  Who  has  told  you  those 
lies  1 — I  mean,  your  brother  Jos  came  in  the  same  ship  with  me, 
and  is  come  home  to  make  you  all  happy." 

"  Papa,  papa  !  "  Emmy  cried  out,  "  here  are  news  !  My  brother 
is  in  England.  He  is  come  to  take  care  of  you. — Here  is  Major 
Dobbin." 

Mr.  Sedley  started  up,  shaking  a  great  deal,  and  gathering  up 
his  thoughts.  Then  he  stepped  forward  and  made  an  old-fashioned 
bow  to  the  Major,  whom  he  called  Mr.  Dobbin,  and  hoped  his 
worthy  father.  Sir  William,  was  quite  well.  He  proposed  to  call 
upon  Sir  William,  who  had  done  him  the  honour  of  a  visit  a  short 
time  ago.  Sir  William  had  not  called  upon  -the  old  gentleman  for 
eight  years — it  was  that  visit  he  was  thinking  of  returning. 

"  He  is  very  much  shaken,"  Emmy  whispered,  as  Dobbin  went 
up  and  cordially  shook  hands  with  the  old  man. 

Although  he  had  such  particular  business  in  London  that  even- 
ing, the  Major  consented  to  forego  it  upon  Mr.  Sedley 's  invitation 
to  him  to  come  home  and  partake  of  tea.  Amelia  put  her  arm 
under  that  of  her  young  friend  with  the  yellow  shawl,  and  headed 
the  party  on  their  return  homewards,  so  that  Mr.  Sedley  fell  to 
Dobbin's  share.  The  old  man  walked  very  slowly,  and  told  a 
number  of  ancient  histories  about  himself  and  his  poor  Bessy,  his 
former  prosperity,  and  his  bankruptcy.  His  thoughts,  as  is  usual 
with  failing  old  men,  were  quite  in  former  times.  The  present, 
with  the  exception  of  the  one  catastrophe  which  he  felt,  he  knew 
little  about.  The  Major  was  glad  to  let  him  talk  on.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  figure  in  front  of  him — the  dear  little  figure 
always  present  to  his  imagination  and  in  his  prayers,  and  visiting  his 
dreams  wakeful  or  slumbering. 

Amelia  was  very  happy,  smiling,  and  active  all  that  evening; 
performing  her  duties  as  hostess  of  the  little  entertainment  with  the 
utmost  grace  and  propriety,  as  Dobbin  thought.  His  eyes  followed 
her  about  as  they  sate  in  the  twilight.  How  many  a  time  had  he 
longed  for  that  moment,  and  thought  of  her  far  away  under  hot 
winds  and  in  weary  marches,  gentle  and  happy,  kindly  ministering 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  571 

to  the  wants  of  old  age,  and  decorating  poverty  with  sweet  sub- 
mission— as  he  saw  her  now !  I  do  not  say  that  his  taste  was  the 
highest,  or  that  it  is  the  duty  of  great  intellects  to  be  content  with 
a  bread-and-butter  paradise,  such  &6  sufficed  our  simple  old  friend ; 
but  his  desires  were  of  this  sort,  whether  for  good  or  bad ;  and,  with 
Amelia  to  help  him,  he  was  as  ready  to  drink  as  many  cups  of  tea 
as  Doctor  Johnson. 

Amelia  seeing  this  propensity,  laughingly  encouraged  it ;  and 
looked  exceedingly  roguish  as  she  administered  to  him  cup  after 
cup.  It  is  true  she  did  not  know  that  the  Major  had  had  no  dinner, 
and  that  the  cloth  was  laid  for  him  at  the  Slaughters',  and  a  plate 
laid  thereon  to  mark  that  the  table  was  retained,  in  that  very  box 
in  which  the  Major  and  George  had  sate  many  a  time  carousing, 
when  she  was  a  child  just  come  home  from  Miss  Pinkerton's  school. 

The  first  thing  Mrs.  Osborne  showed  the  Major  was  Georgy's 
miniature,  for  which  she  ran  upstairs  on  her  arrival  at  home.  It 
was  not  half  handsome  enough  of  course  for  the  boy,  but  wasn't  it 
noble  of  him  to  think  of  bringing  it  to  his  mother  1  Whilst  her 
papa  was  awake  she  did  not  talk  much  about  Georgy.  To  hear 
about  Mr.  Osborne  and  Russell  Square  was  not  agreeable  to  the  old 
man,  who  very  hkely  was  unconscious  that  he  had  been  living  for 
some  months  past  mainly  on  the  bounty  of  his  richer  rival ;  and 
lost  his  temper  if  allusion  was  made  to  the  other. 

Dobbin  told  him  all,  and  a  little  more  perhaps  than  all,  that 
had  happened  on  board  the  Bamchunder ;  and  exaggerated  Jos's 
benevolent  dispositions  towards  his  father,  and  resolution  to  make 
him  comfortable  in  his  old  days.  The  truth  is,  that  during  the 
voyage  the  Major  had  impressed  this  duty  most  strongly  upon  his 
fellow-passenger,  and  extorted  pp<>mises  from  him  that  he  would  take 
charge  of  his  sister  and  her  child.  He  soothed  Jos's  irritation  with 
regard  to  the  bills  which  the  old  gentleman  had  drawn  upon  him, 
gave  a  laughing  account  of  his  own  sufferings  on  the  same  score,  and 
of  the  famous  consignment  of  wine  with  which  the  old  man  had 
favoured  him :  and  brought  Mr.  Jos,  who  was  by  no  means  an  ill- 
natured  person  when  well  pleased  and  moderately  flattered,  to  a 
very  good  state  of  feeling  regarding  his  relatives  in  Europe. 

And  in  fine  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  the  Major  stretched  the 
truth  so  far  as  to  tell  old  Mr.  Sedley  that  it  was  mainly  a  desire  to 
see  his  parent  which  brought  Jos  once  more  to  Europe. 

At  his  accustomed  hour  Mr.  Sedley  began  to  doze  in  his  chair, 
and  then  it  was  Amelia's  opportunity  to  commence  her  conversation,  . 

which  she  did  with  great  eagerness  ;^itj;«lated  exclusively  to  Georgy.     ^^"^f 
She  did  not  talk  at  all  about  her  owiTsufferings  at  breaking  from 
him,  for  indeed,  this  worthy  woman   though  she  was  half  killed  by 
1. 


57i  VANITY   FAIR 

the  separation  from  the  child,  yet  thought  it  was  very  wicked  in 
her  to  repine  at  losing  him;  but  everything  concerning  him,  his 
virtues,  talents,  and  prospects,  she  poured  out.  She  described  his 
angelic  beauty ;  narrated  a  hundred  instances  of  his  generosity  and 
greatness  of  mind  whilst  living  with  her  :  how  a  Royal  Duchess  had 
stopped  and  admired  him  in  Kensington  Gardens;  how  splendidly 
he  was  cared  for  now,  and  how  he  had  a  groom  and  a  pony ;  what 
quickness  and  cleverness  he  had,  and  what  a  prodigiously  well-read 
and  delightful  person  the  Reverend  Lawrence  Veal  was,  George's 
master.  "He  knows  everything,''  Amelia  said.  "He  has  the 
most  delightful  parties.  You  who  are  so  learned  yourself,  and  have 
read  so  much,  and  are  so  clever  and  accomplished — don't  shake 
your  head  and  say  no — He  always  used  to  say  you  were — you  will 
be  charmed  with  Mr.  Veal's  parties.  The  last  Tuesday  in  every 
month.  He  says  there  is  no  place  in  the  bar  or  the  senate  that 
Georgy  may  not  aspire  to.  Look  here,"  and  she  went  to  the  piano- 
drawer  and  drew  out  a  theme  of  Georgy's  composition.  This  great 
effort  of  genius,  which  is  still  in  the  possession  of  George's  mother, 
is  as  follows  : — 

"  On  Selfishness. — Of  all  the  vices  which  degrade  the  human 
character.  Selfishness  is  the  most  odious  and  contemptible.  An 
undue  love  of  Self  leads  to  the  most  monstrous  crimes ;  and  occasions 
the  greatest  misfortunes  both  in  States  and  Families.  As  a  selfish 
man  will  impoverish  his  family  and  often  bring  them  to  ruin :  so 
a  selfish  king  brings  ruin  on  his  people  and  often  plunges  them 
into  war. 

"  Example  :  The  selfishness  of  Achilles,  as  remarked  by  the  poet 
Homer,  occasioned  a  thousand  woes  to  the  Greeks — ixvpi'  'Axa-toU 
aXyk  eOrjKc — (Hom.  II.  A.  2).  The  selfishness  of  the  late  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  occasioned  innumerable  wars  in  Europe,  and  caused  him 
to  perish,  himself,  in  a  miserable  island — that  of  Saint  Helena  in 
the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

"  We  see  by  these  examples  that  we  are  not  to  consult  our  own 
interest  and  ambition,  but  that  we  are  to  consider  the  interests  of 
others  as  well  as  our  own. 

"George  S.  Osborne. 
''Athene  House,  24tth  April  1827." 

"  Think  of  him  writing  such  a  hand,  and  quoting  Greek  too, 
at  his  age,"  the  delighted  mother  said.  "  0  William,"  she  added, 
holding  out  her  hand  to  the  Major — "  what  a  treasure  Heaven  has 
given  me  in  that  boy  !  He  is  the  comfort  of  my  life — and  he  is  the 
image  of — of  him  that's  gone  !  " 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  573 

"Ought  I  to  be  angry  with  her  for  being  faithful  to  himl"  -V  "  4^ 
WilHam  thought.     "  Ought  I  to  be  jealous  of  my  friend  in  the     /  ^ 

grave,  or  hurt  that  such  a  heart  as  Amelia's  can  love  only  once  and     > 
for  ever?     0  George,  George,  how  little  you  knew  the  prize  you    I 
had,   though."     This  sentiment  passed  rapidly  through  William's    ) 
mind,  as  he  was  holding  Amelia's  hand,  whilst  the  handkerchief  J 
was  veiling  her  eyes. 

"Dear  friend,"  she  said,  pressing  the  hand  which  held  hers, 
"  how  good,  how  kind  you  always  have  been  to  me  !  See  !  Papa 
is  stirring.     You  will  go  and  see  Georgy  to-morrow,  won't  you  ? " 

"  Not  to-morrow,"  said  poor  old  Dobbin.  "  I  have  business." 
He  did  not  like  to  own  that  he  had  not  as  yet  been  to  his  parents' 
and  his  dear  sister  Anne — a  remissness  for  which  I  am  sure  every 
well-regulated  person  will  blame  the  Major.  And  presently  he  took 
his  leave,  leaving  his  address  behind  him  for  Jos,  against  the  latter's 
arrival.     And  so  the  first  day  was  over,  and  he  had  seen  her- 

Wlien  he  got  back  to  the  Slaughters',  the  roast  fowl  was  of 
course  cold,  in  which  condition  he  ate  it  for  supper.  And  knowing 
what  early  hours  his  family  kept,  and  that  it  would  be  needless  to 
disturb  their  slumbers  at  so  late  an  hour,  it  is  on  record  that  Major 
Dobbin  treated  himself  to  half-price  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre  that 
evening,  where  let  us  hope  he  enjoyed  himself. 


CHAPTER    LIX 

THE  OLD  PIANO 

THE  Major's  visit  left  old  John  Sedley  in  a  great  state  of 
agitation  and  excitement.  His  daughter  could  not  induce 
him  to  settle  down  to  his  customary  occupations  or  amuse- 
ments that  night.  He  passed  the  evening  fumbling  amongst  his 
boxes  and  desks,  untying  his  papers  with  trembling  hands,  and 
sorting  and  arranging  them  against  Jos's  arrival.  He  had  them  in 
the  greatest  order — his  tapes  and  his  files,  his  receipts,  and  his 
letters  with  lawyers  and  correspondents ;  the  documents  relative  to 
the  Wine  Project  (which  failed  from  a  most  unaccountable  accident, 
after  commencing  with  the  most  splendid  prospects),  the  Coal 
Project  (which  only  a  want  of  capital  prevented  from  becoming  the 
most  successful  scheme  ever  put  before  the  public),  the  Patent 
Sawmills  and  Sawdust  Consolidation  Project,  &c.  &c. — All  night, 
until  a  very  late  hour,  he  passed  in  the  preparation  of  these  docu- 
ments, trembling  about  from  one  room  to  another,  with  a  quivering 
candle  and  shaky  hands.—"  Here's  the  wine  papers,  here's  the  saw- 
dust, here's  the  coals;  here's  my  letters  to  Calcutta  and  Madras, 
and  replies  from  Major  Dobbin,  C.B.,  and  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  to  the 
same.  He  shall  find  no  irregularity  about  me,  Emmy,"  the  old 
gentleman  said. 

Emmy  smiled.  "  I  don't  think  Jos  will  care  about  seeing  those 
papers,  papa,"  she  said. 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  business,  my  dear,"  answered 
the  sire,  shaking  his  head  with  an  important  air.  And  it  must  be 
confessed,  that  on  this  point  Emmy  was  very  ignorant,  and  that  is  a 
pity,  some  people  are  so  knowing.  All  these  twopenny  documents 
arranged  on  a  side  table,  old  Sedley  covered  them  carefully  over  with 
a  clean  bandanna  handkerchief  (one  out  of  Major  Dobbin's  lot),  and 
enjoined  the  maid  and  landlady  of  the  house,  in  the  most  solemn 
way,  not  to  disturb  those  papers,  which  were  arranged  for  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  the  next  morning,  "  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  of  the 
Honourable  East  India  Company's  Bengal  Civil  Service." 

Amelia  found  him  up  very  early  the  next  morning,  more  eager, 
more  hectic,  and  more  shaky  than  ever.     "I  didn't  sleep  much, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  575 

Emmy,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  was  thinking  of  my  poor  Bessy.  I 
wish  she  was  alive,  to  ride  in  Jos's  carriage  once  again.  She  kept 
her  own,  and  became  it  very  well."  And  his  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
which  trickled  down  his  furrowed  yeld  face.  Amelia  wiped  them 
away,  and  smilingly  kissed  him,  and  tied  the  old  man's  neckcloth  in 
a  smart  bow,  and  put  his  brooch  into  his  best  shirt  frill,  in  which, 
in  his  Sunday  suit  of  mourning,  he  sat  from  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning  awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  son. 

There  are  some  splendid  tailors'  shops  in  the  High  Street  of 
Southampton,  in  the  fine  plate-glass  windows  of  which  hang  gorgeous 
waistcoats  of  all  sorts,  of  silk  and  velvet,  and  gold  and  crimson,  and 
pictures  of  the  last  new  fashions,  in  which  those  wonderful  gentlemen 
with  quizzing  glasses,  and  holding  on  to  little  boys  with  the  exceed- 
ing large  eyes  and  curly  hair,  ogle  ladies  in  riding  habits  prancing 
by  the  statue  of  Achilles  at  Apsley  House.  Jos,  although  provided 
with  some  of  the  most  splendid  vests  that  Calcutta  could  furnish, 
thought  he  could  not  go  to  town  until  he  was  supplied  with  one  or 
two  of  these  garments,  and  selected  a  crimson  satin,  embroidered 
with  gold  butterflies,  and  a  black  and  red  velvet  tartan  with  white 
stripes  and  a  rolling  collar,  with  which,  and  a  rich  blue  satin  stock 
and  a  gold  pin,  consisting  of  a  five-barred  gate  with  a  horseman  in 
pink  enamel  jumping  over  it,  he  thought  he  might  make  his  entry 
into  London  with  some  dignity.  For  Jos's  former  shyness  and 
blundering  blushing  timidity  had  given  way  to  a  more  candid  and 
courageous  self-assertion  of  his  worth.  "  I  don't  care  about  owning 
it,"  Waterloo  Sedley  would  say  to  his  friends,  "  I  am  a  dressy  man  :  " 
and  though  rather  uneasy  if  the  ladies  looked  at  him  at  the  Govern- 
ment House  balls,  and  though  he  blushed  and  turned  away  alarmed 
under  their  glances,  it  was  chiefly  from  a  dread  lest  they  should 
make  love  to  him  that  he  avoided  them,  being  averse  to  marriage 
altogether.  But  there  was  no  such  swell  in  Calcutta  as  Waterloo 
Sedley,  I  have  heard  say  :  and  he  had  the  handsomest  turn-out,  gave 
the  best  bachelor  dinners,  and  had  the  finest  plate  in  the  whole  place. 

To  make  these  waistcoats  for  a  man  of  his  size  and  dignity  took 
at  least  a  day,  part  of  which  he  employed  in  hiring  a  servant  to  wait 
upon  him  and  his  native ;  and  in  instructing  the  agent  who  cleared 
his  baggage,  his  boxes,  his  books,  which  he  never  read ;  his  chests 
of  mangoes,  chutney,  and  currie-powders ;  his  shawls  for  presents  to 
people  whom  he  didn't  know  as  yet ;  and  the  rest  of  his  Persicos 
apparatus. 

At  length  he  drove  leisurely  to  London  on  the  third  day,  and 
in  the  new  waistcoat :  the  native  with  chattering  teeth,  shuddering 
in  a  shawl  on  the  box  by  the  side  of  the  new  European  servant ; 


576  VANITY    FAIR 

Jos  puffing  his  pipe  at  intervals  within,  and  looking  so  majestic, 
that  the  little  boys  cried  Hooray,  and  many  people  thought  he  must 
be  a  Governor-General.  ZTe,  I  promise,  did  not  decline  the  obse- 
quious invitation  of  the  landlords  to  alight  and  refresh  himself  in 
the  neat  country  towns.  Having  partaken  of  a  copious  breakfast, 
with  fish,  and  rice,  and  hard  eggs,  at  Southampton,  he  had  so  far 
rallied  at  Winchester  as  to  think  a  glass  of  sherry  necessary.  At 
Alton  he  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  at  his  servant's  request,  and 
imbibed  some  of  the  ale  for  which  the  place  is  famous.  At  Farn- 
ham  he  stopped  to  view  the  Bishop's  Castle,  and  to  partake  of  a 
light  dinner  of  stewed  eels,  veal  cutlets,  and  French  beans,  with 
a  bottle  of  claret.  He  was  cold  over  Bagshot  Heath,  where  the 
native  chattered  more  and  more,  and  Jos  Sahib  took  some  brandy- 
and-water ;  in  fact,  when  he  drove  into  town  he  was  as  full  of  wine, 
beer,  meat,  pickles,  cherry-brandy,  and  tobacco,  as  the  steward's 
cabin  of  a  steam-packet.  It  was  evening  when  his  carriage  thundered 
up  to  the  little  door  in  Brompton,  whither  the  affectionate  fellow 
drove  first,  and  before  hieing  to  the  apartments  secured  for  him 
by  Mr.  Dobbin  at  the  Slaughters'. 

All  the  faces  in  the  street  were  in  the  windows  ;  the  little  maid- 
servant flew  to  the  wicket-gate,  the  Mesdames  Clapp  looked  out 
from  the  casement  of  the  ornamented  kitchen;  Emmy,  in  a  great 
flutter,  was  in  the  passage  among  the  hats  and  coats,  and  old  Sedley 
in  the  parlour  inside,  shaking  all  over.  Jos  descended  from  the 
post-chaise  and  down  the  creaking  swaying  steps  in  awful  state, 
supported  by  the  new  valet  from  Southampton  and  the  shuddering 
native,  whose  brown  face  was  now  livid  with  cold,  and  of  the  colour 
of  a  turkey's  gizzard.  He  created  an  immense  sensation  in  the 
passage  presently,  where  Mrs.  and  Miss  Clapp,  coming  perhaps  to 
listen  at  the  parlour  door,  found  Loll  Jewab  shaking  upon  the  hall- 
bench  under  the  coats,  moaning  in  a  strange  piteous  way,  and 
showing  his  yellow  eyeballs  and  white  teeth. 

For,  you  see,  we  have  adroitly  shut  the  door  upon  the  meeting 
between  Jos  and  the  old  father  and  the  poor  little  gentle  sister 
inside.  The  old  man  was  very  much  aff'ected :  so,  of  course,  was 
his  daughter :  nor  was  Jos  without  feeling.  In  that  long  absence 
of  ten  years,  the  most  selfish  will  think  about  home  and  early  ties. 
Distance  sanctifies  both.  Long  brooding  over  those  lost  pleasures 
exaggefaE6S"their  charm  and  sweetness.  Jos  was  unaffectedly  glad 
to  see  and  shake  the  hand  of  his  father,  between  whom  and  himself 
there  had  been  a  coolness — glad  to  see  his  little  sister,  whom  he 
remembered  so  pretty  and  smiling,  and  pained  at  the  alteration 
which  time,  grief,  and  misfortune  had  made  in  the  shattered  old 
man.     Emmy  had  come  out  to  the  door  in  her  black  clothes  and 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  577 

whispered  to  him  of  her  mother's  death,  and  not  to  speak  of  it  to 
their  father.  There  was  no  need  of  this  caution,  for  the  elder  Sedley 
himself  began  immediately  to  speak  of  the  event,  and  prattled  about 
it,  and  wept  over  it  plenteously.  Ip  shocked  the  Indian  not  a  little, 
and  made  him  think  of  himself  less  than  the  poor  fellow  was  accus- 
tomed to  do. 

The  result  of  the  interview  must  have  been  very  satisfactory, 
for  when  Jos  had  reascended  his  post-chaise,  and  had  driven  awa} 
to  his  hotel,  Emmy  embraced  her  father  tenderly,  appealing  to  him 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  and  asking  the  old  man  whether  she  did 
not  always  say  that  her  brother  had  a  good  heart '? 

Indeed,  Joseph  Sedley,  affected  by  the  humble  position  in  which 
he  found  his  relations,  and  in  the  expansiveness  and  overflowing  of 
heart  occasioned  by  the  first  meeting,  declared  that  they  should 
never  suffer  want  or  discomfort  any  more,  that  he  was  at  home 
for  some  time  at  any  rate,  during  which  his  house  and  every- 
thing he  had  should  be  theirs :  and  that  Amelia  would  look 
very  pretty  at  the  head  of  his  table — until  she  would  accept  one 
of  her  own. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  had,  as  usual,  recourse  to  the A.^y<^ 

waterworks.      She  knew  what   he   meant.      She  and  her  young      /v^J^.'^^ 
confidante.  Miss  Mary,  had  talked  over  the  matter  most  fully,  the     ,    _  « 
very  night  of  the  Major's  visit :  beyond  which  time  the  impetuous     '^'^'•''^ 
Polly  could  not  refrain   from  talking  of  the  discovery  which  she     C^^^^. 
had  made,  and  describing  the  start  and  tremor  of  joy  by  which      t^v-<A-^ 
Major  Dobbin  betrayed  himself  when  Mr.  Binny  passed  with  his 
bride,  and  the  Major  learned  that  he  had  no  longer  a  rival  to  fear, 
"  Didn't  you  see  how  he  shook  all  over  when  you  asked  if  he  was 
married,  and  he  said,   '  Who  told  you  those  lies  ? '      0   ma'am," 
Polly  said,  "he  never  kept  his  eyes  off  you:  and  I'm  sure  he's 
grown  grey  a-thinking  of  you." 

But  Amelia,  looking  up  at  her  bed,  over  which  hung  the 
portraits  of  her  husband  and  son,  told  her  yoimg  prot^gde,  never, 
never,  to  speak  on  that  subject  again ;  that  Major  Dobbin  had  been 
her  husband's  dearest  friend,  and  her  own  and  George's  most  kind 
and  affectionate  guardian ;  that  she  loved  him  as  a  brother — but  that 
a  v/oman  who  had  been  married  to  such  an  angel  as  that,  and  she 
pointed  to  the  wall,  could  never  think  of  any  other  union.  Poor 
Polly  sighed  :  she  thought  what  she  should  do  if  young  Mr.  Tomkins, 
at  the  surgery,  who  always  looked  at  her  so  at  church,  and  who, 
by  those  mere  aggressive  glances  had  put  her  timorous  little  heart 
into  such  a  flutter  that  she  was  ready  to  surrender  at  once, — 
what  she  should  do  if  he  were  to  die?     She  knew  he  was  con 


578  VANITY    FAIR 

sumptive,  his  cheeks  were  so  red,  and  he  was  so  uncommon  thin 
in  the  waist. 

Not  that  Emmy,  being  made  aware  of  the  honest  Major's 
passion,  rebuffed  him  in  any  way,  or  felt  displeased  with  him. 
Such  an  attachment  from  so  true  and  loyal  a  gentleman  could  make 
no  woman  angry.  Desdemona  was  not  angry  with  Cassio,  though 
there  is  very  little  doubt  she  saw  the  Lieutenant's  partiality  for  her 
(and  I  for  my  part  believe  that  many  more  things  took  place  in 
that  sad  affair  than  the  worthy  Moorish  officer  ever  knew  of) ;  why, 
Miranda  was  even  very  kind  to  Caliban,  and  we  may  be  pretty  sure 
for  the  same  reason.  Not  that  she  would  encourage  him  in  the 
least — the  poor  uncouth  monster — of  course  not.  No  more  would 
Emmy  by  any  means  encourage  her  admirer,  the  Major.  She 
would  give  him  that  friendly  regard,  which  so  much  excellence  and 
fidelity  merited ;  she  would  treat  him  with  perfect  cordiality  and 
frankness  until  he  made  his  proposals ;  and  then  it  would  be  time 
enough  for  her  to  speak,  and  to  put  an  end  to  hopes  which  never 
could  be  realised. 

She  slept,  therefore,  very  soundly  that  evening,  after  the  con- 
versation with  Miss  Polly,  and  was  more  than  ordinarily  happy,  in 
spite  of  Jos's  delaying.  "I  am  glad  he  is  not  going  to  marry  that 
Miss  O'Dowd,"  she  thought.  "  Colonel  O'Dowd  never  could  have  a 
sister  fit  for  such  an  accomplished  man  as  Major  William."  Who 
was  there  amongst  her  little  circle,  who  would  make  him  a  good 
wife?  Not  Miss  Binny,  she  was  too  old  and  ill-tempered;  Miss 
Osborne  ? — too  old  too.  Little  Polly  was  too  young.  Mrs.  Osborne 
could  not  find  anybody  to  suit  the  Major  before  she  went  to  sleep. 

However,  when  the  postman  made  his  appearance,  the  little 
party  were  put  out  of  suspense  by  the  receipt  of  a  letter  from  Jos 
to  his  sister,  who  announced  that  he  felt  a  little  fatigued  after  his 
voyage,  and  should  not  be  able  to  move  on  that  day,  but  that  he 
would  leave  Southampton  early  the  next  morning,  and  be  with  his 
father  and  mother  at  evening.  Amelia,  as  she  read  out  the  letter 
to  her  father,  paused  over  the  latter  word ;  her  brother,  it  was  clear, 
did  not  know  what  had  happened  in  the  family.  Nor  could  he : 
for  the  fact  is  that,  though  the  Major  rightly  suspected  that  his 
travelling  companion  never  would  be  got  into  motion  in  so  short  a 
space  as  twenty-four  hours,  and  would  find  some  excuse  for  delaying, 
yet  Dobbin  had  not  written  to  Jos  to  inform  him  of  the  calamity 
which  had  befallen  the  Sedley  family  :  being  occupied  in  talking 
with  Amelia  until  long  after  post-hour. 

The  same  morning  brought  Major  Dobbin  a  letter  to  the 
Slaughters'  Coffee  House  from  his  friend  at  Southampton ;  begging 
deal"  Dob  to  excuse  Jos  for  being  in  a  rage  when  awakened  the  day 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  579 

before  (he  had  a  confounded  headache,  and  was  just  in  his  first 
sleep),  and  entreating  Dob  to  engage  comfortable  rooms  at  the 
Slaughters'  for  Mr.  Sedley  and  his  servants.  The  Major  had 
become  necessary  to  Jos  during  tl^  voyage.  He  was  attached  to 
him,  and  hung  upon  him.  The  other  passengers  were  away  to 
London.  Young  Ricketts  and  little  Chaffers  went  away  on  the 
coach  that  day — Ricketts  on  the  box,  and  taking  the  reins  from 
Botley ;  the  Doctor  was  off  to  his  family  at  Portsea ;  Bragg  gone 
to  town  to  his  co-partners ;  and  the  first  mate  busy  in  the  unload- 
ing of  the  Ramchunder.  Mr.  Jos  was  very  lonely  at  Southampton, 
and  got  the  landlord  of  the  George  to  take  a  glass  of  wine  with 
him  that  day ;  at  the  very  hour  at  which  Major  Dobbin  was  seated 
at  the  table  of  his  father,  Sir  William,  where  his  sister  found  out 
(for  it  was  impossible  for  the  Major  to  tell  fibs)  that  he  had  been 
to  see  Mrs.  George  Osborne. 

Jos  was  so  comfortably  situated  in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  he  could 
enjoy  his  hookah  there  with  such  perfect  ease,  and  could  swagger 
down  to  the  theatres,  when  minded,  so  agi'eeably,  that,  perhaps,  he 
would  have  remained  altogether  at  the  Slaughters'  had  not  his 
friend,  the  Major,  been  at  his  elbow.  That  gentleman  would  not 
let  the  Bengalee  rest  until  he  had  executed  his  promise  of  having  a 
home  for  Amelia  and  his  father.  Jos  was  a  soft  fellow  in  anybody's 
liands ;  Dobbin  most  active  in  anybody's  concerns  but  his  own ;  the 
civilian  was,  therefore,  an  easy  victim  to  the  guileless  arts  of  this 
good-natured  diplomatist,  and  was  ready  to  do,  to  purchase,  hire,  or 
relinquish  whatever  his  friend  thought  fit.  Loll  Jewab,  of  whom 
the  boys  about  St.  Martin's  Lane  used  to  make  cruel  fun  whenever 
he  showed  his  dusky  countenance  in  the  street,  was  sent  back  to 
Calcutta  in  the  Lady  KicUehury  East  Indiaman,  in  which  Sir 
William  Dobbin  had  a  share ;  having  previously  taught  Jos's 
European  the  art  of  preparing  cui-ries,  pillaus,  and  pipes.  It  was  a 
matter  of  great  delight  and  occupation  to  Jos  to  superintend  the 
building  of  a  smart  chariot,  which  he  and  the  Major  ordered  in  the 
neighbouring  Long  Acre :  and  a  pair  of  handsome  horses  were 
jobbed,  with  which  Jos  drove  about  in  state  in  the  Park,  or  to  call 
upon  his  Indian  friends.  Amelia  was  not  seldom  by  his  side  on 
these  excursions,  when  also  Major  Dobbin  would  be  seen  in  the  back 
seat  of  the  carriage.  At  other  times  old  Sedley  and  his  daughter 
took  advantage  of  it :  and  Miss  Clapp,  who  frequently  accompanied 
her  friend,  had  great  pleasure  in  being  recognised  as  she  sate  in 
the  carriage,  dressed  in  the  famous  yellow  shawl,  by  the  young 
gentleman  at  the  surgery,  whose  face  might  commonly  be  seen  over 
the  window-blinds  as  she  passed. 


58o  VANITY    FAIR 

Shortly  after  Jos's  first  appearance  at  Brompton,  a  dismal  scene, 
indeed,  took  place  at  that  humble  cottage,  at  which  the  Sedleys  had 
passed  the  last  ten  years  of  their  life.  Jos's  carriage  (the  temporary 
one,  not  the  chariot  under  construction)  arrived  one  day  and  carried 
off  old  Sedley  and  his  daughter — to  return  no  more.  The  tears  that 
were  shed  by  the  landlady  and  the  landlady's  daughter  at  that  event 
were  as  genuine  tears  of  sorrow  as  any  that  have  been  outpoured  in 
the  course  of  this  history.  In  their  long  acquaintanceship  and 
intimacy  they  could  not  recall  a  harsh  word  that  had  been  uttered 
by  Amelia.  She  had  been  all  sweetness  and  kindness,  always 
thankful,  always  gentle,  even  when  Mrs.  Clapp  lost  her  own  temper, 
and  pressed  for  the  rent.  When  the  kind  creature  was  going  away 
for  good  and  all,  the  landlady  reproached  herself  bitterly  for  ever 
having  used  a  rough  expression  to  her — how  she  wept,  as  they  stuck 
up  with  wafers  on  the  window,  a  paper  notifying  that  the  little 
rooms  so  long  occupied  were  to  let !  They  never  would  have  such 
lodgers  again,  that  was  quite  clear.  After-life  proved  the  truth  of 
this  melancholy  prophecy  :  and  Mrs.  Clapp  revenged  herself  for  the 
deterioration  of  mankind  by  levying  the  most  savage  contributions 
upon  the  tea-caddies  and  legs  of  mutton  of  her  locataires.  Most  of 
them  scolded  and  grumbled ;  some  of  them  did  not  pay ;  none  of 
them  stayed.  The  landlady  might  well  regret  those  old,  old  friends 
who  had  left  her. 

As  for  Miss  Mary,  her  sorrow  at  Amelia's  departure  was  such  as 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  depict.  From  childhood  upwards  she  had 
been  with  her  daily,  and  had  attached  herself  so  passionately  to  that 
dear  good  lady,  that  when  the  grand  barouche  came  to  carry  her  off 
into  splendour,  she  fainted  in  the  arms  of  her  friend,  who  was  indeed 
scarcely  less  affected  than  the  good-natured  girl.  Amelia  loved  her 
like  a  daughter.  During  eleven  years  the  girl  had  been  her  constant 
friend  and  associate.  The  separation  was  a  very  painful  one  indeed 
to  her.  But  it  was  of  course  arranged  that  Mary  was  to  come  and 
stay  often  at  the  grand  new  house  whither  Mrs.  Osborne  was  going ; 
and  where  Mary  was  sure  she  would  never  be  so  happy  as  she  had 
been  in  their  humble  cot,  as  Miss  Clapp  called  it,  in  the  language 
of  the  novels  which  she  loved. 

Let  us  hope  she  was  wrong  in  her  judgment.  Poor  Emmy's 
days  of  happiness  had  been  very  few  in  that  humble  cot.  A  gloomy 
Fate  had  oppressed  her  there.  She  never  liked  to  come  back  to 
the  house  after  she  had  left  it,  or  to  face  the  landlady  who  had 
tyrannised  over  her  when  ill-humoured  and  unpaid,  or  when  pleased 
had  treated  her  with  a  coarse  familiarity  scarcely  less  odious.  Her 
servility  and  fulsome  compliments  when  Emmy  was  in  prosperity 
were  not  more  to  that  lady's  liking.     She  cast  about  notes  of  ad- 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  581 

miration  all  over  the  new  house,  extolling  every  article  of  furniture 
or  ornament ;  she  fingered  Mrs.  Osborne's  dresses,  and  calculated 
their  price.  Nothing  could  be  too  good  for  that  sweet  lady,  she 
vowed  and  protested.  But  in  the^ vulgar  sycophant  who  now  paid 
court  to  her,  Emmy  always  remembered  the  coarse  tyrant  who  had 
made  her  miserable  many  a  time,  to  whom  she  had  been  forced  to 
put  up  petitions  for  time,  when  the  rent  was  overdue;  who  cried 
out  at  her  extravagance  if  she  bought  delicacies  for  her  ailing  mother 
or  father ;  who  had  seen  her  humble  and  trampled  upon  her. 

Nobody  ever  heard  of  these  griefs,  which  had  been  part  of  our 
poor  little  woman's  lot  in  life.  She  kept  them  secret  from  her 
father,  whose  improvidence  was  the  cause  of  much  of  her  misery. 
She  had  to  bear  all  the  blame  of  his  misdoings,  and  indeed  was  so 
utterly  gentle  and  humble  as  to  be  made  by  nature  for  a  victim. 

I  hope  she  is  not  to  suffer  much  more  of  that  hard  usage.  And, 
as  in  all  griefs  there  is  said  to  be  some  consolation,  I  may  mention 
that  poor  Mary,  when  left  at  her  friend's  departure  in  a  hysterical 
condition,  was  placed  under  the  medical  treatment  of  the  young 
fellow  from  the  surgery,  under  whose  care  she  rallied  after  a  short 
period.  Emmy,  when  she  went  away  from  Brompton,  endowed 
Mary  with  every  article  of  furniture  that  the  house  contained  :  only 
taking  away  her  pictures  (the  two  pictures  over  the  bed)  and  her 
piano — that  little  old  piano  which  had  now  passed  into  a  plaintive 
jingling  old  age,  but  which  she  loved  for  reasons  of  her  own.  She 
was  a  child  when  first  she  played  on  it :  and  her  parents  gave  it 
her.  It  had  been  given  to  her  again  since,  as  the  reader  may  re- 
member, when  her  father's  house  was  gone  to  ruin,  and  the  instm- 
ment  was  recovered  out  of  the  wreck. 

Major  Dobbin  was  exceedingly  pleased  when,  as  he  was  super- 
intending the  arrangements  of  Jos's  new  house,  which  the  Major 
insisted  should  be  very  handsome  and  comfortable,  the  cart  arrived 
from  Brompton,  bringing  the  trunks  and  bandboxes  of  the  emigrants 
from  that  village,  and  with  them  the  old  piano.  Amelia  would 
have  it  up  in  her  sitting-room,  a  neat  little  apartment  on  the  second 
floor,  adjoining  her  father's  chamber :  and  where  the  old  gentleman 
sate  commonly  of  evenings. 

When  the  men  appeared  then  bearing  this  old  music-box,  and 
Amelia  gave  orders  that  it  should  be  placed  in  the  chamber  afore- 
said, Dobbin  was  quite  elated.  "  I'm  glad  you've  kept  it,"  he  said 
in  a  very  sentimental  manner.  "I  was  afraid  you  didn't  care 
about  it." 

"I  value  it  more  than  anything  I  have  in  the  world,"  said 
Amelia. 

"  Do  you,  Amelia  ? "  cried  the  Major.     The  fact  was,  aa  he  had 


582  VANITY    FAIR 

bought  it  himself,  though  he  never  said  anything  about  it,  it  never 
entered  into  his  head  to  suppose  that  Emmy  should  think  anybody 
else  was  the  purchaser,  and  as  a  matter  of  course  he  fancied  that 
she  knew  the  gift  came  from  him.  "  Do  you,  Amelia  1 "  he  said  ; 
and  the  question,  the  great  question  of  all,  was  trembling  on  his 
ps,  when  Emmy  replied — 

I     "  Can  I  do  otherwise  ? — did  not  he  give  it  me  1 " 
I     "  I  did  not  know,"  said  poor  old  Dob,  and  his  countenance  fell. 

Emmy  did  not  note  the  circumstance  at  the  time,  nor  take 
immediate  heed  of  the  very  dismal  expression  which  honest  Dobbin's 
countenance  assumed  :  but  she  thought  of  it  afterwards.  And  then 
it  struck  her,  with  inexpressible  pain  and  mortification  too,  that  it 
was  William  who  was  the  giver  of  the  piano;  and  not  George,  as_ 
she  had  fancied.  It  was  not  George's  gift ;  the  only  one  which  she 
had  received  from  her  lover,  as  she  thought — the  thing  she  had 
cherished  beyond  all  others — her  dearest  relic  and  prize.  She  had 
spoken  to  it  about  George ;  played  his  favourite  airs  upon  it ;  sate 
for  long  evening  hours,  touching,  to  the  best  of  her  simple  art, 
melancholy  harmonies  on  the  keys,  and  weeping  over  them  in  silence. 
It  was  not  George's  relic.  It  was  valueless  now.  The  next  time 
that  old  Sedley  asked  her  to  play,  she  said  it  was  shockingly  out  of 
tune,  that  she  had  a  headache,  that  she  couldn't  play. 

Then,  according  to  her  custom,  she  rebuked  herself  for  her 
pettishness  and  ingratitude,  and  determined  to  make  a  reparation 
to  honest  William  for  the  slight  she  had  not  expressed  to  him,  but 
had  felt  for  his  piano.  A  few  days  afterwards,  as  they  were  seated 
in  the  drawing-room,  where  Jos  had  fallen  asleep  with  great  comfort 
after  dinner,  Amelia  said  with  rather  a  faltering  voice  to  Major 
Dobbin — 

"  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon  for  something." 

"  About  what  ? "  said  he. 

"  About — about  that  little  square  piano.  I  never  thanked  you 
for  it  when  you  gave  it  me ;  many,  many  years  ago,  before  I  was 
married.  I  thought  somebody  else  had  given  it.  Thank  you, 
William."  She  held  out  her  hand;  but  the  poor  little  woman's 
heart  was  bleeding;  and  as  for  her  eyes,  of  course  they  were  at 
their  work^;) 

But  William  could  hold  no  more.  "  Amelia,  Amelia,"  he  said, 
"I  did  buy  it  for  you.  I  loved  you  then  as  I  do  now.  I  must 
tell  you.  I  think  I  loved  you  from  the  first  minute  that  I  saw 
you,  when  George  brought  me  to  your  house,  to  show  me  the 
Amelia  whom  he  was  engaged  to.  You  were  but  a  girl,  in  white, 
with  large  ringlets ;  you  came  down  singing — do  you  remember  ?  — 
and  we  went  to  Vauxhall.     Since  then  I  have  thought  of  but  one 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  583 

woman  in  the  world,  and  that  was  you.  I  think  there  is  no  hour 
in  the  day  has  passed  for  twelve  years  that  I  haven't  thought  of 
you.  I  came  to  tell  you  this  before  I  went  to  India,  but  you  did 
not  care,  and  I  hadn't  the  hearj^  to  speak.  You  did  not  care 
whether  I  stayed  or  went." 

"  I  was  very  ungrateful,"  Amelia  said. 

"No;  only  indifferent,"  Dobbin  continued  desperately.  "I 
have  nothing  to  make  a  woman  to  be  otherwise.  I  know  what  you 
are  feeling  now.  You  are  hurt  in  your  heart  at  the  discovery  about 
the  piano;  and  that  it  came  from  me  and  not  from  George.  I 
forgot,  or  I  should  never  have  spoken  of  it  so.  It  is  for  me  to  ask 
your  pardon  for  being  a  fool  for  a  moment,  and  thinking  that  years 
of  constancy  and  devotion  might  have  pleaded  with  you."  > 

"It  is  you  who  are  cruel  now,"  Amelia  said  with  some  spirit. ^fc — 
"George  is  my  husband,  here  and  in  heaven.     How  could  I  love 
any  other  but  him  1     I  am  his  now  as  when  you  first  saw  me,  dear 
William.     It  was  he  who  told  me  how  good  and  generous  you  were, 
and  who  taught  me  to  love  you  as  a  brother.     Have  you  not  been 
everything  to  me  and  my  boy  1     Our  dearest,  truest,  kindest  friend 
and  protector"?     Had  you  come  a  few  months  sooner  perhaps  you 
might  have  spared  me  that — that  dreadful  parting.     Oh,  it  nearly        ^    /    . 
killed  me,  William — but  you  didn't  come,  though  I  wished  and    ^^^^  (^^ 
prayed  for  you  to  come,  and  they  took  him  too  away  from  me. 
Isn't  he  a  noble  boy,  William  1     Be  his  friend  still  and  mine  " — and 
here  her  voice  broke,  and  she  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder. 

The  Major  folded  his  arms  round  her,  holding  her  to  him  as 
if  she  was  a  child,  and  kissed  her  head.  "  I  will  not  change,  dear 
Amelia,"  he  said.  "  I  ask  for  no  more  than  your  love.  I  think  I 
would  not  have  it  otherwise.  Only  let  me  stay  near  you,  and  see 
you  often." 

"  Yes,  often,"  Amelia  said.  And  so  William  was  at  liberty  to 
look  and  long :  as  the  poor  boy  at  school  who  has  no  money  may 
vsigh  after  the  contents  of  the  tart-woman's  tray. 


CHAPTER  LX 

RETURNS   TO 'THE  GENTEEL   WORLD 

GOOD  fortune  now  begins  to  smile  upon  Amelia.  We  are 
glad  to  get  her  out  of  that  low  sphere  in  which  she  has 
been  creeping  hitherto,  and  introduce  her  into  a  polite  circle ; 
not  so  grand  and  refined  as  that  in  which  our  other  female  friend, 
Mrs.  -Becky,  has  appeared,  but  still  having  no  small  pretensions  to 
gentility  and  fashion.  Jos's  friends  were  all  from  the  three  presi- 
dencies, and  his  new  house  was  in  the  comfortable  Anglo-Indian 
district  of  which  Moira  Place  is  the  centre.  Minto  Square,  Great 
Olive  Street,  Warren  Street,  Hastings  Street,  Ochterlony  Place, 
Plassy  Square,  Assaye  Terrace  ("  Gardens ''  was  a  felicitous  word 
not  applied  to  stucco  houses  with  asphalte  terraces  in  front,  so  early 
as  1827)— who  does  not  know  these  respectable  abodes  of  the 
retired  Indian  aristocracy,  and  the  quarter  which  Mr.  Wenham 
calls  the  Black  Hole,  in  a  word?  Jos's  position  in  life  was  not 
grand  enough  to  entitle  him  to  a  house  in  Moira  Place,  where  none 
can  live  but  retired  Members  of  Council,  and  partners  of  Indian 
firms  (who  break  after  having  settled  a  hundred  thousand  pounds 
on  their  wives,  and  retire  into  comparative  penury  to  a  country 
place  and  four  thousand  a  year) :  he  engaged  a  comfortable  house 
of  a  second  or  third  rate  order  in  Gillespie  Street,  purchasing  the 
carpets,  costly  mirrors,  and  handsome  and  appropriate-planned 
furniture  by  Seddons,  from  the  assignees  of  Mr.  Scape,  lately  ad- 
mitted partner  into  the  great  Calcutta  House  of  Fogle,  Fake,  and 
Cracksman,  in  which  poor  Scape  had  embarked  seventy  thousand 
pounds,  the  earnings  of  a  long  and  honourable  life,  taking  Fake's 
place,  who  retired  to  a  princely  Park  in  Sussex  (the  Fogies  have 
been  long  out  of  the  firm,  and  Sir  Horace  Fogle  is  about  to  be 
raised  to  the  peerage  as  Baron  Bandanna) — admitted,  I  say,  partner 
into  the  great  agency  house  of  Fogle  and  Fake  two  years  before  it 
failed  for  a  million,  and  plunged  half  the  Indian  public  into  misery 
and  ruin. 

Scape,  ruined,  honest,  and  broken-hearted  at  sixty-five  years 
of  age,  went  out  to  Calcutta  to  wind  up  the  affairs  of  the  house. 
Walter  Scape  was  withdrawn  from  Eton,  and  put  into  a  merchant's 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  585 

house.  Florence  Scape,  Fanny  Scape,  and  their  mother  faded  away 
to  Boulogne,  and  will  be  heard  of  no  more.  To  be  brief,  Jos 
stepped  in  and  bought  their  carpets  and  sideboards,  and  admired 
himself  in  the  mirrors  which  hai^  reflected  their  kind  handsome 
faces.  The  Scape  tradesmen,  all  honourably  paid,  left  their  cards, 
and  were  eager  to  supply  the  new  household.  The  large  men  in 
white  waistcoats,  who  waited  at  Scape's  dinners,  greengrocers,  bank- 
porters,  and  milkmen  in  their  private  capacity,  left  their  addresses, 
and  ingratiated  themselves  with  the  butler.  Mr.  Chummy,  the 
chimney-purifier,  who  had  swep  the  last  three  families,  tried  to  coax 
the  butler  and  the  boy  under  him,  whose  duty  it  was  to  go  out 
covered  with  buttons,  and  with  stripes  down  his  trousers,  for  the 
protection  of  Mrs.  Amelia  whenever  she  chose  to  walk  abroad. 

It  was  a  modest  establishment.  The  butler  was  Jos's  valet 
also,  and  never  was  more  dnmk  than  a  butler  in  a  small  family 
should  be  who  has  a  proper  regard  for  his  master's  wine.  Emmy 
was  supplied  with  a  maid,  grown  on  Sir  William  Dobbin's  suburban 
estate;  a  good  girl,  whose  kindness  and  humility  disarmed  Mrs. 
Osborne,  who  was  at  first  terrified  at  the  idea  of  having  a  servant 
to  wait  upon  herself,  who  did  not  in  the  least  know  how  to  use  one, 
and  who  always  spoke  to  domestics  with  the  most  reverential  polite- 
ness. But  this  maid  was  very  useful  in  the  family,  in  dexterously 
tending  old  Mr.  Sedley,  who  kept  almost  entirely  to  his  own  quarter 
of  the  house,  and  never  mixed  in  any  of  the  gay  doings  which  took 
place  there. 

Numbers  of  people  came  to  see  Mrs.  Osborne.  Lady  Dobbin 
and  daughters  were  delighted  at  her  change  of  fortune,  and  waited 
upon  her.  Miss  Osborne  from  Russell  Square  came  in  her  grand 
chariot  with  the  flaming  hammercloth  emblazoned  with  the  Leeds 
arms.  Jos  was  reported  to  be  immensely  rich.  Old  Osborne  had 
no  objection  that  Georgy  should  inherit  his  uncle's  property  as  well 
as  his  own.  "  Damn  it,  we  will  make  a  man  of  the  feller,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  I'll  see  him  in  Parliament  before  I  die.  You  may  go  and 
see  his  mother.  Miss  0.,  though  I'll  never  set  eyes  on  her  : "  and 
Miss  Osborne  came.  Emmy,  you  may  be  sure,  was  very  glad  to 
see  her,  and  so  be  brought  nearer  to  George.  That  young  fellow 
was  allowed  to  come  much  more  fi^equently  than  before  to  visit  his 
mother.  He  dined  once  or  twice  a  week  in  Gillespie  Street,  and 
bullied  the  servants  and  his  relations  there,  just  as  he  did  in  Russell 
Square. 

Hewas  always  respectful  to  Major  Dobbin,  however,  and  more 

modest^in  his  demeanour  when  that  gentleman  was  present.     He 

'^as  a  clever  lad,  and  afraid  of  the  Major.     George  could  not  help 

^adminng  his  friend's  simplicity,  his  good-humour,  his  various  learn- 


[ 


586  VANITY    FAIR 

ing  quietly  imparted,  his  general  love  of  truth  and  justice.  He  had 
met  no  such  man  as  yet  in  the  course  of  his  experience,  and  he  had 
an  instinctive  liking  for  a  gentleman.  He  hung  fondly  by  his 
godfather's  side ;  and  it  was  his  delight  to  walk  in  the  Parks  and 
hear  Dobbin  talk.  William  told  George  about  his  father,  about 
India  and  Waterloo,  about  everything  but  himself  When  George 
was  more  than  usually  pert  and  conceited,  the  Major  made  jokes 
at  him,  which  Mrs.  Osborne  .thought  very  cruel.  One  day,  taking 
him  to  the  play,  and  the  boy  declining  to  go  into  the  pit  because  it 
was  vulgar,  the  Major  took  him  to  the  boxes,  left  him  there,  and 
went  down  himself  to  the  pit.  He  had  not  been  seated  there  very 
long,  before  he  felt  an  arm  thrust  under  his,  and  a  dandy  little  hand 
in  a  kid  glove  squeezing  his  arm.  George  had  seen  the  absurdity  of 
his  ways,  and  come  down  from  the  upper  region.  A  tender  laugh 
of  benevolence  lighted  up  old  Dobbin's  face  and  eyes  as  he  looked 
at  the  repentant  little  prodigal.  He  loved  the  boy,  as  he  did  every- 
thing that  belonged  to  Amelia.  How  charmed  she  was  when  she 
heard  of  this  instance  of  George's  goodness !  Her  eyes  looked 
more  kindly  on  Dobbin  than  they  ever  had  done.  She  blushed,  he 
thought,  after  looking  at  him  so. 

Georgy  never  tired  of  his  praises  of  the  Major  to  his  mother. 
"  I  like  him,  mamma,  because  he  knows  such  lots  of  things ;  and 
he  ain't  like  old  Veal,  who  is  always  bragging  and  using  such  long 
words,  don't  you  know  '?  The  chaps  call  him  '  Longtail '  at  school. 
I  gave  him  the  name  ;  ain't  it  capital  1  But  Dob  reads  Latin  like 
English,  and  French  and  that ;  and  when  we  go  out  together  he 
tells  me  stories  about  my  papa,  and  never  about  himself ;  though  I 
heard  Colonel  Buckler,  at  grandpapa's,  say  that  he  was  one  of  the 
bravest  officers  in  the  army,  and  had  distinguished  himself  ever  so 
much.  Grandpapa  was  quite  surprised,  and  said,  '  That  feller ! 
why,  I  didn't  think  he  could  say  Bo  to  a  goose ' — but  /  know  he 
could,  couldn't  he,  mamma  ? " 

Emmy  laughed  :  she  thought  it  was  very  likely  the  Major  could 
do  thus  much. 

If  there  was  a  sincere  liking  between  George  and  the  Major,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  between  the  boy  and  his  uncle  no  great  love 
existed.  George  had  got  a  way  of  blowing  out  his  cheeks,  and 
putting  his  hands  in  his  waistcoat  pockets,  and  saying,  "  God  bless 
my  soul,  you  don't  say  so  ? "  so  exactly  after  the  fashion  of  old  Jos, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  refrain  from  laughter.  The  servants 
would  explode  at  dinner  if  the  lad,  asking  for  something  which 
wasn't  at  table,  put  on  that  countenance  and  used  that  favourite 
phrase.  Even  Dobbin  would  shoot  out  a  sudden  peal  at  the  boy's 
mimicry.     If  George  did  not  mimic  his  uncle  to  his  face,  it  was  only 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  587 

by  Dobbin's  rebukes  and  Amelia's  terrified  entreaties  that  the  little 
scapegrace  was  induced  to  desist.  And  the  worthy  civilian  being 
haunted  by  a  dim  consciousness  that  the  lad  thought  him  an  ass, 
and  was  inclined  to  turn  him  int(V  ridicule,  used  to  be  extremely 
timorous,  and,  of  course,  doubly  pompous  and  dignified  in  the  presence 
of  Master  Georgy.  When  it  was  announced  that  the  young  gentle- 
man was  expected  in  Gillespie  Street  to  dine  with  his  mother,  Mr. 
Jos  eommonly  foimd  that  he  had  an  engagement  at  the  Club. 
Perhaps  nobody  was  much  grieved  at  his  absence.  On  those  days 
Mr.  Sedley  would  commonly  be  induced  to  come  out  from  his  place 
of  refuge  in  the  upper  storeys ;  and  there  would  be  a  small  family 
party,  whereof  Major  Dobbin  pretty  generally  formed  one.  He  was 
the  ami  de  la  maison ;  old  Sedley's  Mend,  Emmy's  friend,  Georgy's 
friend,  Jos's  counsel  and  adviser.  "  He  might  almost  as  well  be  at 
Madras  for  anything  we  see  of  him,"  Miss  Ann  Dobbin  remarked, 
at  Camberwell.  Ah  !  Miss  Ann,  did  it  not  strike  you  that  it  was 
not  you  whom  the  Major  wanted  to  marry  ? 

Joseph  Sedley  then  led  a  life  of  dignified  otiosity  such  as  became 
a  person  of  his  eminence.  His  very  first  point,  of  course,  was  to 
become  a  member  of  the  Oriental  Club ;  where  he  spent  his  morn- 
ings in  the  company  of  his  brother  Indians,  where  he  dined,  or 
whence  he  brought  home  men  to  dine. 

Amelia  had  to  receive  and  entertain  these  gentlemen  and  their 
ladies.  From  these  she  heard  how  soon  Smith  would  be  in  Council ; 
how  many  lacs  Jones  had  brought  home  with  him,  how  Thomson's 
House  in  London  had  refused  the  bills  drawn  by  Thomson,  Kibobjee 
and  Co.,  the  Bombay  House,  and  how  it  was  thought  the  Calcutta 
House  must  go  too ;  how  very  imprudent,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
Mrs.  Brown's  conduct  (wife  of  Brown  of  the  Ahmednuggur  Irregulars) 
had  been  with  young  Swankey  of  the  Body  Guard,  sitting  up  with 
him  on  deck  until  all  hours,  and  losing  themselves  as  they  were 
riding  out  at  the  Cape;  how  Mrs.  Hardyman  had  had  out  her 
thirteen  sisters,  daughters  of  a  country  curate,  the  Rev.  Felix 
Rabbits,  and  manied  eleven  of  them,  seven  high  up  in  the  service  : 
how  Hornby  was  wild  because  his  wife  would  stay  in  Europe,  and 
Trotter  was  appointed  Collector  at  Ummerapoora.  This  and  similar 
talk  took  place,  at  the  grand  dinners  all  round.  They  had  the  same 
conversation ;  the  same  silver  dishes ;  the  same  saddles  of  mutton, 
boiled  turkeys,  and  entries.  Politics  set  in  a  short  time  after 
dessert,  when  the  ladies  retired  upstairs  and  talked  about  their 
complaints  and  their  children. 

Mutato  nomine,  it  is  all  the  same.  Don't  the  barristers'  wives 
talk  about  Circuit? — don't  the  soldiers'  ladies  gossip  about  the 
Regiment  ? — don't  the  clergymen's  ladies  discourse  about  Sunday 
18 


588  VANITY    FAIR 

Schools,  and  who  takes  whose  duty  1— don't  the  very  greatest  ladies 
of  all  talk  about  that  small  clique  of  persons  to  whom  they  belong, 
and  why  should  our  Indian  friends  not  have  their  own  conversation  1 
— only  I  admit  it  is  slow  for  the  laymen  whose  fate  it  sometimes 
is  to  sit  by  and  listen. 

Before  long  Emmy  had  a  visiting-book,  and  was  driving  about 
regularly  in  a  carriage,  calling  upon  Lady  Bludyer  (wife  of  Major- 
General  Sir  Roger  Bludyer,  K.C.B.,  Bengal  Army);  Lady  Huff, 
wife  of  Sir  G.  Huff,  Bombay  ditto ;  Mrs.  Pice,  the  Lady  of  Pice 
the  Director,  &c.  We  are  not  long  in  using  ourselves  to  changes 
in  life.  That  carriage  came  round  to  Gillespie  Street  every  day : 
that  buttony  boy  sprang  up  and  down  from  the  box  with  Emmy's 
and  Jos's  visiting-cards;  at  stated  hours  Emmy  and  the  carriage 
went  for  Jos  to  the  Club,  and  took  him  an  airing ;  or,  putting  old 
Sedley  into  the  vehicle,  she  drove  the  old  man  round  the  Regent's 
Park.  The  lady's-maid  and  the  chariot,  the  visiting-book  and  the 
buttony  page,  became  soon  as  familiar  to  Amelia  as  the  humble 
routine  of  Brompton.  She  accommodated  herself  to  one  as  to  the 
other.  If  Fate  had  ordained  that  she  should  be  a  duchess,  she 
would  even  have  done  that  duty  too.  She  was  voted,  in  Jos's 
female  society,  rather  a  pleasing  young  person — not  much  in  her, 
but  pleasing,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 

The  men,  as  usual,  liked  her  artless  kindness  and  simple  refined 
demeanour.  The  gallant  young  Indian  dandies  at  home  on  furlough 
— immense  dandies  these — chained  and  moustached — driving  in 
tearing  cabs,  the  pillars  of  the  theatres,  living  at  West  End  hotels, 
— nevertheless  admired  Mrs.  Osborne,  liked  to  bow  to  her  carriage 
in  the  Park,  and  to  be  admitted  to  have  the  honour  of  paying 
her  a  morning  visit.  Swankey  of  the  Body  Guard  himself,  that 
dangerous  youth,  and  the  greatest  buck  of  all  the  Indian  army  now 
on  leave,  was  one  day  discovered  by  Major  Dobbin  tete-a-tete  with 
Amelia,  and  describing  the  sport  of  pig-sticking  to  her  with  great 
humour  and  eloquence ;  and  he  spoke  afterwards  of  a  d — d  King's 
officer  that's  always  hanging  about  the  house — a  long,  thiri,  queer- 
looking,  oldish  fellow — a  dry  fellow  though,  that  took  the  shine  out 
of  a  man  in  the  talking  line. 

Had  the  Major  possessed  a  little  more  personal  vanity  he  would 
have  been  jealous  of  so  dangerous  a  young  buck  as  that  fascinating 
Bengal  Captain.  But  Dobbin  was  of  too  simple  and  generous  a 
nature  to  have  any  doubts  about  Amelia.  He  was  glad  that  the 
young  men  should  pay  her  respect ;  and  that  others  should  admire 
her.  Ever  since  her  womanhood  almost,  had  she  not  been  persecuted 
and  undervalued  ?  It  pleased  him  to  see  how  kindness  brought  out 
her  good  qualities,  and  how  her  spirits  gently  rose  with  her  pros^perity. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  589 

Any  person  who  appreciated  her  paid  a  compliment  to  the  Major's 
good  judgment — that  is,  if  a  man  may  be  said  to  have  good  judgment 
who  is  under  the  influence  of  Love's  delusion. 

After  Jos  went  to  Court,  which  we  may  be  sure  he  did  as  a  loyal 
subject  of  his  Sovereign  (showing  himself  in  his  full  Court  suit  at 
the  Club,  whither  Dobbin  came  to  fetch  him  in  a  very  shabby  old 
uniform),  he  who  had  always  been  a  stanch  Loyalist  and  admirer 
of  George  IV.,  became  such  a  tremendous  Tory  and  pillar  of  the 
State,  that  he  was  for  having  Amelia  to  go  to  a  Drawing-room,  too. 
He  somehow  had  worked  himself  up  to  believe  that  he  was  impli- 
cated in  the  maintenance  of  the  public  welfare,  and  that  the  Sovereign 
would  not  be  happy  unless  Jos  Sedley  and  his  family  appeared  to 
rally  round  him  at  St.  James's. 

Emmy  laughed.  "  Shall  I  wear  the  family  diamonds,  Jos  1 "  she 
said. 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  buy  you  some,"  thought  the  Major. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  any  that  were  too  good  for  you." 


CHAPTER   LXI 

IN  WHICH  TWO  LIGHTS  ARE  PUT  OUT 

THERE  came  a  day  when  the  round  of  decorous  pleasures  and 
solemn  gaieties  in  which  Mr.  Jos  Sedley's  family  indulged, 
was  interrupted  by  an  event  which  happens  in  most  houses. 
As  you  ascend  the  staircase  of  your  house  from  the  drawing  towards 
the  bedroom  floors,  you  may  have  remarked  a  little  arch  in  the  wall 
right  before  you,  which  at  once  gives  light  to  the  stair  which  leads 
from  the  second  storey  to  the  third  (where  the  nursery  and  servants' 
chambers  commonly  are)  and  serves  for  another  purpose  of  utility, 
of  which  the  undertaker's  men  can  give  you  a  notion.  They  rest 
the  coffins  upon  that  arch,  or  pass  them  through  it  so  as  not  to 
disturb  in  any  unseemly  manner  the  cold  tenant  slumbering  within 
the  black  ark. 

That  second-floor  arch  in  a  London  house,  looking  up  and  down 
the  well  of  the  staircase,  and  commanding  the  main  thoroughfare  by 
which  the  inhabitants  are  passing ;  by  which  cook  lurks  down  before 
daylight  to  scour  her  pots  and  pans  in  the  kitchen ;  by  which  young 
master  stealthily  ascends,  having  left  his  boots  in  the  hall,  and  let 
himself  in  after  dawn  from  a  jolly  night  at  the  Club ;  down  which 
miss  comes  rustling  in  fresh  ribbons  and  spreading  muslins, 
brilliant  and  beautiful,  and  prepared  for  conquest  and  the  ball ;  or 
Master  Tommy  slides,  preferring  the  banisters  for  a  mode  of  con- 
veyance, and  disdaining  danger  and  the  stair;  down  which  the 
mother  is  fondly  carried  smiling  in  her  strong  husband's  arms,  as  he 
steps  steadily  step  by  step,  and  followed  by  the  monthly  nurse,  on 
the  day  when  the  medical  man  has  pronounced  that  the  charming 
patient  may  go  downstairs ;  up  which  John  lurks  to  bed,  yawning, 
with  a  sputtering  tallow  candle,  and  to  gather  up  before  sunrise 
the  boots  which  are  awaiting  him  in  the  passages ; — that  stair,  up 
or  down  which  babies  are  carried,  old  people  are  helped,  guests  are 
marshalled  to  the  ball,  the  parson  walks  to  the  christening,  the 
doctor  to  the  sick-room,  and  the  undertaker's  men  to  the  upper  floor 
— what  a  memento  of  Life,  Death,  and  Vanity  it  is — that  arch  and 
stair — if  you  choose  to  consider  it,  and  sit  on  the  landing,  looking 
up  and  down  the  well  1     The  doctor  will  come  up  to  us  too  for  the 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  591 

last  time  there,  my  friend  in  motley.  The  nurse  will  look  in  at  the 
curtains,  and  you  take  no  notice — and  then  she  will  fling  open  the 
windows  for  a  little,  and  let  in  the  air.  Then  they  will  pull  down 
all  the  front  blinds  of  the  house  arid  live  in  the  back  rooms — then 
they  will  send  for  the  lawyer  and  other  men  in  black,  &c. — Your 
comedy  and  mine  will  have  been  played  then,  and  we  shall  be 
removed,  oh  how  far !  from  the  trumpets,  and  the  shouting,  and  the 
^^  posture-making.  If  we  are  gentlefolks  they  will  put  hatchments 
— n5ver-ottr4ate  domicile,  with  gilt  cherubim,  and  mottoes  stating  that 
there  is  "  Quiet  in  Heaven."  Your  son  will  new  furnish  the  house, 
or  perhaps  let  it  and  go  into  a  more  modem  quarter ;  your  name 
will  be  among  the  "  Members  Deceased  "  in  the  lists  of  your  clubs 
next  year.  However  much  you  may  be  moiuned,  your  widow  will 
like  to  have  her  weeds  neatly  made — the  cook  will  send  or  come  up 
to  ask  about  dinner — the  survivor  will  soon  bear  to  look  at  your 
picture  over  the  mantelpiece,  which  will  presently  be  deposed  from 
the  place  of  honour,  to  make  way  for  the  portrait  of  the  son  who 
reigns. 

Which  of  the  dead  are  most  tenderly  and  passionately  deplored  *? 
Those  who  love  the  survivors  the  least,  I  believe.  The  death  of  a 
child  occasions  a  passion  of  grief  and  frantic  tears,  such  as  your  end, 
brother  reader,  will  never  inspire.  The  death  of  an  infant  which 
scarce  knew  you,  which  a  week's  absence  from  you  would  have 
caused  to  forget  you,  will  strike  you  down  more  than  the  loss  of  your 
closest  friend,  or  your  first-born  son^a  man  grown  like  yourself, 
with  children  of  his  own.  We  may  be  harsh  and  stern  with  Judah 
and  Simeon — our  love  and  pity  gush  out  for  Benjamin,  the  little  one. 
And  if  you  are  old,  as  some  reader  of  this  may  be  or  shall  be — old  and 
rich,  or  old  and  poor — you  may  one  day  be  thinking  for  yourself— 
"  These  people  are  very  good  round  about  me ;  but  they  won't  grieve 
too  much  when  I  am  gone.  I  am  very  rich,  and  they  want  my  in- 
heritance—or very  poor,  and  they  are  tired  of  supporting  me." 

The  period  of  mourning  for  Mrs.  Sedley's  death  was  only  just  con- 
cluded, and  Jos  scarcely  had  had  time  to  cast  off  his  black  and  appear 
in  the  splendid  waistcoats  which  he  loved,  when  it  became  evident 
to  those  about  Mr.  Sedley,  that  another  event  was  at  hand,  and  that 
the  old  man  was  about  to  go  seek  for  his  wife  in  the  dark  land 
whither  she  had  preceded  him.  "  The  state  of  my  father's  health," 
Jos  Sedley  solemnly  remarked  at  the  Club,  "  prevents  me  from  giving 
any  large  parties  this  season  :  but  if  you  will  come  in  quietly  at  half- 
past  six,  Chutney,  my  boy,  and  take  a  homely  dinner  with  one  or 
two  of  the  old  set — I  shall  be  always  glad  to  see  you."  So  Jos  and 
his  acquaintances  dined  and  drank  their  claret  among  themselves  in 
jnlence ;  whilst  the  sands  of  life  were  running  out  in  the  old  man's 


59^  VANITY    FAIR 

glass  jijpstairs.  The  velvet-footed  butler  brought  them  their  wine ; 
and  they  composed  themselves  to  a  rubber  after  dinner ;  at  which 
Major  Dobbin  would  sometimes  come  and  take  a  hand :  and  Mrs. 
Osborne  would  occasionally  descend,  when  her  patient  above  was 
settled  for  the  night,  and  had  commenced  one  of  those  lightly 
troubled  slumbers  which  visit  the  pillow  of  old  age. 

The  old  man  clung  to  his  daughter  during  this  sickness.  He 
would  take  his  broths  and  medicines  from  scarcely  any  other  hand. 
To  tend  him  became  almost  the  sole  business  of  her  life.  Her  bed 
was  placed  close  by  the  door  which  opened  into  his  chamber,  and 
she  was  alive  at  the  slightest  noise  or  disturbance  from  the  couch  of 
the  querulous  invalid;  though,  to  do  him  justice,  he  lay  awake 
many  an  hour,  silent  and  without  stirring,  unwilling  to  awaken  his 
kind  and  vigilant  nurse. 

He  loved  his  daughter  with  more  fondness  now,  perhaps,  than 
ever  he  had  done  since  the  days  of  her  childhood.  In  the  dis- 
charge of  gentle  offices  and  kind  filial  duties,  this  simple  creature 
shone  most  especially.  "  She  walks  into  the  room  as  silently  as  a 
sunbeam,"  Mr.  Dobbin  thought,  as  he  saw  her  passing  in  and  out 
from  her  father's  room ;  a  cheerful  sweetness  lighting  up  her  face  as 
she  moved  too  and  fro,  graceful  and  noiseless.  When  women  are 
brooding  over  their  children,  or  busied  in  a  sick-room,  who  has  not 
seen  in  their  faces  those  sweet  angelic  beams  of  love  and  pity  ? 

A  secret  feud  of  some  years'  standing  was  thus  healed  :  and  with 
a  tacit  reconciliation.  In  these  last  hours,  and  touched  by  her  love 
and  goodness,  the  old  man  forgot  all  his  grief  against  her,  and  wrongs 
which  he  and  his  wife  had  many  a  long  night  debated  :  how  she  had 
given  up  everything  for  her  boy  :  how  she  was  careless  of  her  parents 
in  their  old  age  and  misfortune,  and  only  thought  of  the  child  :  how 
absurdly  and  foolishly,  impiously  indeed,  she  took  on,  when  George 
was  removed  from  her.  Old  Sedley  forgot  these  charges  as  he  was 
making  up  his  last  account,  and  did  justice  to  the  gentle  and  uncom- 
plaining little  martyr.  One  night  when  she  stole  into  his  room,  she 
found  him  awake,  when  the  broken  old  man  made  his  confession. 
"  0  Emmy,  I've  been  thinking  we  were  very  unkind  and  unjust  to 
you,"  he  said,  and  put  out  his  cold  and  feeble  hand  to  her.  She 
knelt  down  and  prayed  by  his  bedside,  as  he  did  too,  having  still 
hold  of  her  hand.  When  our  turn  comes,  friend,  may  we  have  such 
company  in  our  prayers  ! 

Perhaps  as  he  was  lying  awake  then,  his  life  may  have  passed 
before  him^ — his  early  hopeful  struggles,  his  manly  successes  and 
prosperity,  his  downfall  in  his  declining  years,  and  his  present  help- 
less condition — no  chance  of  revenge  against  Fortune,  which  had  had 
the  better  of  him — neither  name  nor  money  to  bequeath — a  spent- 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  593 

out,  bootless  life  of  defeat  and  disappointment,  and  the  end  here ! 
Which,  I  wonder,  brother  reader,  is  the  better  lot,  to  die  prosperous 
and  famous,  or  poor  and  disappointed  1  To  have,  and  to  be  forced 
to  yield ;  or  to  sink  out  of  life,  hewing  played  and  lost  the  game  1 
That  must  be  a  strange  feeling,  when  a  day  of  our  life  comes  and  we 
say,  "  To-morrow  J  success  or  failure  won't  matter  much  :  and  the 
sun  will  rise,  and  all  the  myriads  of  mankind  go  to  their  work  or 
their  pleasure  as  usual,  but  I  shall  be  out  of  the  turmoil." 

So  there  came  one  morning  and  sunrise,  when  all  the  world  got 
up  and  set  about  its  various  works  and  pleasures,  with  the  exception 
of  old  John  Sedley,  who  was  not  to  fight  with  fortune,  or  to  hope 
or  scheme  any  more :  but  to  go  and  take  up  a  quiet  and  utterly 
unknown  residence  in  a  churchyard  at  Brompton  by  the  side  of  his 
old  wife. 

Major  Dobbin,  Jos,  and  Georgy  followed  his  remains  to  the 
grave,  in  a  black  cloth  coach.  Jos  came  on  purpose  from  the  Star 
and  Garter  at  Richmond,  whither  he  retreated  after  the  deplorable 
event.  He  did  not  care  to  remain  in  the  house,  with  the — under 
the  circumstances,  you  understand.  But  Emmy  stayed  and  did  her 
duty  as  usual.  She  was  bowed  down  by  no  especial  grief,  and 
rather  solemn  than  sorrowful.  She  prayed  that  her  own  end  might 
be  as  calm  and  painless,  and  thought  with  trust  and  reverence  of  the 
words  which  she  had  heard  from  her  father  during  his  illness,  indica- 
tive of  his  faith,  his  resignation,  and  his  future  hope. 

Yes,  I  think  that  will  be  the  better  ending  of  the  two,  after  all. 
Suppose  you  are  particularly  rich  and  well  to  do,  and  say  on  that 
last  day,  "I  am  very  rich ;  I  am  tolerably  well  known ;  I  have 
lived  all  my  life  in  the  best  society,  and,  thank  Heaven,  come  of  a 
most  respectable  family.  I  have  served  my  King  and  country  with 
honour.  I  was  in  Parliament  for  several  years,  where,  I  may  say, 
my  speeches  were  listened  to,  and  pretty  well  received.  I  don't  owe 
any  man  a  shilling :  on  the  contrary,  I  lent  my  old  college  friend. 
Jack  Lazarus,  fifty  pounds,  for  which  my  executors  will  not  press 
him.  I  leave  my  daughters  with  ten  thousand  pounds  apiece- 
very  good  portions  for  girls :  I  bequeath  my  plate  and  fumitiu-e, 
my  house  in  Baker  Street,  with  a  handsome  jointure,  to  my  widow 
for  her  life ;  and  my  landed  property,  besides  money  in  the  funds, 
and  my  cellar  of  well-selected  wine  in  Baker  Street,  to  my  son.  I 
leave  twenty  pound  a  year  to  my  valet ;  and  I  defy  any  man  after 
I  have  gone  to  find  anything  against  my  character."  Or  suppose, 
on  the  other  hand,  your  swan  sings  quite  a  different  sort  of  dirge, 
and  you  say,  "I  am  a  poor  blighted,  disappointed  old  fellow,  and 
have  made  an  utter  failure  through  life.  I  was  not  endowed  either 
with  brains  or  with  good  fortune  :  and  confess  that  I  have  committed 
2  a 


594 


VANITY    FAIR 


a  hundred  mistakes  and  blunders.  I  own  to  having  forgotten  my 
duty  many  a  time.  I  can't  pay  what  I  owe.  On  my  last  bed  I 
lie  utterly  helpless  and  humble :  and  I  pray  forgiveness  for  my 
weakness,  and  throw  myself,  with  a  contrite  heart,  at  the  feet  of  the 
Divine  Mercy."  Which  of  these  two  speeches,  think  you,  would 
be  the  best  oration  for  your  own  funeraH  Old  Sedley  made  the 
last ;  and  in  that  humble  frame  of  mind,  and  holding  by  the  hand 
of  his  daughter,  life  and  disappointment  and  vanity  sank  away  from 
under  him. 

"  You  see,"  said  old  Osborne  to  George,  "  what  comes  of  merit 
and  industry,  and  judicious  speculations,  and  that.  Look  at  me 
and  my  banker's  account.  Look  at  your  poor  grandfather  Sedley, 
and  his  failure.  And  yet  he  was  a  better  man  than  I  was,  this 
day  twenty  years — a  better  man,  I  should  say,  by  ten  thousand 
pound." 

Beyond  these  people  and  Mr.  Clapp's  family,  who  came  over 
from  Brompton  to  pay  a  visit  of  condolence,  not  a  single  soul  alive 
ever  cared  a  penny  piece  about  old  John  Sedley,  or  remembered  the 
existence  of  such  a  person. 

When  old  Osborne  first  heard  from  his  friend  Colonel  Buckler 
(as  little  Georgy  has  already  informed  us)  how  distinguished  an 
officer  Major  Dobbin  was,  he  exhibited  a  great  deal  of  scornful  in- 
credulity, and  expressed  his  surprise  how  ever  such  a  feller  as  that 
should  possess  either  brains  or  reputation.  But  he  heard  of  the 
Major's  fame  from  various  members  of  his  society.  Sir  WiUiam 
Dobbin  had  a  great  opinion  of  his  son,  and  narrated  many  stories 
illustrative  of  the  Major's  learning,  valour,  and  estimation  in  the 
world's  opinion.  Finally,  his  name  appeared  in  the  lists  of  one  or 
two  great  parties  of  the  nobility  :  and  this  circumstance  had  a  pro- 
digious eJBfect  upon  the  old  aristocrat  of  Russell  Square. 

The  Major's  position,  as  guardian  to  Georgy,  whose  possession 
had  been  ceded  to  his  grandfather,  rendered  some  meetings  between 
the  two  gentlemen  inevitable ;  and  it  was  in  one  of  these  that  old 
Osborne,  a  keen  man  of  business,  looking  into  the  Major's  accounts 
with  his  ward  and  the  boy's  mother,  got  a  hint  which  staggered  him 
very  much,  and  at  once  pained  and  pleased  him,  that  it  was  out  of 
William  Dobbin's  own  pocket  that  a  part  of  the  fund  had  been 
supplied  upon  which  the  poor  widow  and  the  child  had  subsisted. 

When  pressed  upon  the  point,  Dobbin,  who  could  not  tell  lies, 
blushed  and  stammered  a  good  deal,  and  finally  confessed.  "  The 
marriage,"  he  said  (at  which  his  interlocutor's  face  grew  dark),  "  was 
very  much  my  doing.  I  thought  my  poor  friend  had  gone  so  far, 
that  retreat  from  his  engagement  would  have  been  dishonour  to  him, 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  595 

and  death  to  Mrs.  Osborne ;  and  I  could  do  no  less,  when  she  was 
left  without  resources,  than  give  what  money  I  could  spare  to 
maintain  her." 

"  Major  D.,"  Mr.  Osborne  said,  locking  hard  at  him,  and  turning 
very  red  too — "  you  did  me  a  great  injury ;  but  give  me  leave  to 
tell  you,  sir,  you  are  an  honest  feller.  There's  my  hand,  sir,  though 
I  little  thought  that  my  flesh  and  blood  was  living  on  you — "  and 
the  pair  shook  hands,  with  great  confusion  on  Major  Dobbin's  part, 
thus  found  out  in  his  act  of  charitable  hypocrisy. 

He  strove  to  soften  the  old  man,  and  reconcile  him  towards  his 
son's  memory.  "  He  was  such  a  noble  fellow,"  he  said,  "  that  all 
of  us  loved  him,  and  would  have  done  anything  for  him.  I,  as 
a  young  man  in  those  days,  was  flattered  beyond  measure  by  his 
preference  for  me ;  and  was  more  pleased  to  be  seen  in  his  company 
than  in  that  of  the  Commander-in-Chief.  I  never  saw  his  equal  for 
pluck  and  daring,  and  all  the  qualities  of  a  soldier ; "  and  Dobbin 
told  the  old  father  as  many  stories  as  he  could  remember  regarding 
the  gallantry  and  achievements  of  his  son.  "  And  Georgy  is  so  like 
him,"  the  Major  added. 

"  He's  so  like  him  that  he  makes  me  tremble  sometimes,"  the 
grandfather  said. 

On  one  or  two  evenings  the  Major  came  to  dine  with  Mr.  Osborne 
(it  was  during  the  time  of  the  sickness  of  Mr.  Sedley),  and  as  the 
two  sate  together  in  the  evening  after  dinner  all  their  talk  was  about 
the  departed  hero.'  The  father  boasted  about  him  according  to  his 
■^^  wont,  glorifying  himself  in  recounting  his  son's  feats  and  gallantry, 
but  his  mood  was  at  any  rate  better  and  more  charitable  than  that 
in  which  he  had  been  disposed  until  now  to  regard  the  poor  fellow ; 
and  the  Christian  heart  of  the  kind  Major  was  pleased  at  these 
symptoms  of  returning  peace  and  good-will.  On  the  second  evening 
old  Osborne  called  Dobbin,  William,  just  as  he  used  to  do  at  the 
time  when  Dobbin  and  George  were  boys  together :  and  the  honest 
gentleman  was  pleased  by  that  mark  of  reconciliation. 

On  the  next  day  at  breakfast  when  Miss  Osborne,  with  the 
asperity  of  her  age  and  character,  ventured  to  make  some  remark 
reflecting  slightingly  upon  the  Major's  appearance  or  behaviour — 
the  master  of  the  house  interrupted  her.  "You'd  have  been  glad 
enough  to  git  him  for  yourself,  Miss  0.  But  them  grapes  are  sour 
Ha  !  ha  !  Major  William  is  a  fine  feller." 

"  That  he  is,  Grandpapa,"  said  Georgy  approvingly  :  and  going 
up  close  to  the  old  gentleman  he  took  a  hold  of  his  large  grey 
whiskers,  and  laughed  in  his  face  good-humouredly  and  kissed  him. 
And  he  told  the  story  at  night  to  his  mother  :  who  fully  agreed  with 
the  boy. 


596  VANITY    FAIR 

"Indeed  he  is,"  she  said.  "Your  dear  father  always  said  so. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  upright  of  men." 

Dobbin  happened  to  drop  in  very  soon  after  this  conversation, 
which  made  Amelia  blush  perhaps :  and  the  young  scapegrace 
increased  the  confusion  by  telling  Dobbin  the  other  part  of  the 
story.  "  I  say,  Dob,"  he  said,  "  there's  such  an  uncommon  nice  girl 
wants  to  marry  you.  She's  plenty  of  tin  :  she  wears  a  front :  and 
she  scolds  the  servants  from  morning  till  night." 

"  Who  is  it  1 "  asked  Dobbin. 

"  It's  Aunt  0.,"  the  boy  answered.  "  Grandpapa  said  so.  And 
I  say.  Dob,  how  prime  it  would  be  to  have  you  for  my  uncle  !  "  Old 
Sedley's  quavering  voice  from  the  next  room  at  this  moment  weakly 
called  for  Amelia  and  the  laughing  ended. 

That  old  Osborne's  mind  was  changing,  was  pretty  clear.  He 
asked  George  about  his  uncle  sometimes,  and  laughed  at  the  boy's 
imitation  of  the  way  in  which  Jos  said,  "  God-bless-my-soul,"  and 
gobbled  his  soup.  Then  he  said,  "  It's  not  respectful,  sir,  of  you 
younkers  to  be  imitating  of  your  relations.  Miss  0.,  when  you  go 
out  a-driving  to-day,  leave  my  card  upon  Mr.  Sedley,  do  you  hear  1 
There's  no  quarrel  betwigst  me  and  him  anyhow." 

The  card  was  returned,  and  Jos  and  the  Major  were  asked  to 
dinner, — to  a  dinner  the  most  splendid  and  stupid  that  perhaps  ever 
Mr.  Osborne  gave;  every  inch  of  the  family  plate  was  exhibited, 
and  the  best  company  was  asked.  Mr.  Sedley  took  down  Miss  0. 
to  dinner,  and  she  was  very  gracious  to  him;  whereas  she  hardly 
spoke  to  the  Major,  who  sat  apart  from  her,  and  by  the  side  of 
Mr.  Osborne,  very  timid.  Jos  said,  with  great  solemnity,  it  was 
the  best  turtle  soup  he  had  ever  tasted  in  his  life ;  and  asked  Mr. 
Osborne  where  he  got  his  madeira  1 

"It  is  some  of  Sedley's  wine,"  whispered  the  butler  to  his 
master.  "  I've  had  it  a  long  time,  and  paid  a  good  figure  for  it,  too," 
Mr.  Osborne  said  aloud,  to  his  guest;  and  then  whispered  to  his 
right-hand  neighbour  how  he  had  got  it  "at  the  old  chap's  sale." 

More  than  once  he  asked  the  Major  about — about  Mrs.  George 
Osborne — a  theme  on  which  the  Major  could  be  very  eloquent  when 
he  chose.  He  told  Mr.  Osborne  of  her  sufferings — of  her  passionate 
attachment  to  her  husband,  whose  memory  she  worshipped  still — 
of  the  tender  and  dutiftil  manner  in  which  she  had  supported  her 
parents,  and  given  up  her  boy,  when  it  seemed  to  her  her  duty  to 
do  so.  "  You  don't  know  what  she  endured,' sir,"  said  honest  Dobbin 
with  a  tremor  in  his  voice;  "and  I  hope  and  trust  you  will  be 
reconciled  to  her.  If  she  took  your  son  away  from  you,  she  gave 
hers  to  you ;  and  however  much  you  loved  your  George,  depend  on 
it,  she  loved  hers  ten  times  more," 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  597 

''  By  God,  you  are  a  good  feller,  sir,"  was  all  Mr.  Osborne  said. 
It  had  never  struck  him  that  the  widow  would  feel  any  pain  at 
parting  from  the  boy,  or  that  his  having  a  fine  fortune  could  grieve 
her.  A  reconciliation  was  announced  as  speedy  and  inevitable ;  and 
Amelia's  heart  already  began  to  beat  at  the  notion  of  the  awful 
meeting  with  George's  father. 

It  was  never,  however,  destined  to  take  place.  Old  Sedley's 
lingering  illness  and  death  supervened,  after  which  a  meeting  was 
for  some  time  impossible.  That  catastrophe  and  other  events  may 
have  worked  upon  Mr.  Osborne.  He  was  much  shaken  of  late,  andj^" 
aged,  and  his  mind  was  working  inwardly.  He  had  sent  for  his 
lawyers,  and  probably  changed  something  in  his  will.  The  medical 
man  who  looked  in,  pronounced  him  shaky,  agitated,  and  talked  of 
a  little  blood-letting  and  the  sea-side ;  but  he  took  neither  of  these 
remedies. 

One  day  when  he  should  have  come  down  to  breakfast,  his 
servant  missing  him,  went  into  his  dressing-room,  and  found  him 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  dressing-table  in  a  fit.     Miss  Osborne  was 
apprised;  the  doctors  were  sent  for,  Georgy  stopped  away  from 
school ;  the  bleeders  and  cuppers  came.     Osborne  partially  regained    .      / 
cognizance ;  but  never  could  speak  again,  though  he  tried  dreadfully  \   / 
once  or  twfce,  and  in  four  days  he  died.     The  doctors  went  down,      jC 
and  the  undertaker's  men  went  up  the  stairs ;  and  all  the  shutters    /  \ 
were  shut  towards  the  garden  in  Russell  Square.     Bullock  rushed  / 
from  the  City  in  a  hurry.     "  How  much  money  had  he  left  to  that 
boy  ? — not  half,  surely  1     Surely  share  and  share  alike  between  the 
three  1 "     It  was  an  agitating  moment. 

What  was  it  that  poor  old  man  tried  once  or  twice  in  vain  to 
say  1  I  hope  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  see  Amelia,  and  be  reconciled 
before  he  left  the  world  to  the  dear  and  faithful  wife  of  his  son  : 
it  was  most  likely  that ;  for  his  will  showed  that  the  hatred  which 
he  had  so  long  cherished  had  gone  out  of  his  heart. 

They  foimd  in  the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown  the  letter  with 
the  great  red  seal,  which  George  had  written  him  from  Waterloo. 
He  had  looked  at  the  other  papers  too,  relative  to  his  son,  for  the 
key  of  the  box  in  which  he  kept  them  was  also  in  his  pocket,  and 
it  was  found  the  seals  and  envelopes  had  been  broken — very  likely 
on  the  night  before  the  seizure — when  the  butler  had  taken  him 
tea  into  his  study,  and  found  him  reading  in  the  great  red  family 
Bible. 

When  the  will  was  opened,  it  was  found  that  half  the  property 
was  left  to  George,  and  the  remainder  between  the  two  sisters. 
Mr.  Bullock  to  continue,  for  their  joint  benefit,  the  affairs  of  the 
commercial  house,  or  to  go  out,  as  he  thought  fit.     An  annuity  of 


59^  VANITY    FAIK 

five  hundred  pounds,  chargeable  on  George's  property,  was  left  to 
his  mother,  "  the  widow  of  my  beloved  son,  George  Osborne,"  who 
was  to  resume  the  guardianship  of  the  boy. 

"  Major  William  Dobbin,  my  beloved  son's  friend,"  was  appointed 
executor;  "and  as  out  of  his  kindness  and  bounty,  and  with  his 
own  private  funds,  he  maintained  my  grandson  and  my  son's  widow, 
when  they  were  otherwise  without  means  of  support "  (the  testator 
went  on  to  say),  "I  hereby  thank  him  heartily  for  his  love  and 
regard  for  them  :  and  beseech  him  to  accept  such  a  sum  as  may  be 
sufficient  to  purchase  his  commission  as  a  Lieutenant-Colonel,  or  to 
be  disposed  of  in  any  way  he  may  think  fit." 

When  Amelia  heard  that  her  father-in-law  was  reconciled  to  her, 

her  heart  melted,  and  she  was  grateful  for  the  fortune  left  to  her. 

I    But  when  she  heard  how  Georgy  was  restored  to  her,  and  knew 

how  and  by  whom,  and  how  it  was  William's  bounty  that  supported 

her  in  poverty,  how  it  was  William  who  gave  her  her  husband  and 

y     1  her  son — Oh,  then  she  sank  on  her  knees,  and  prayed  for  blessings 

\  [  on  that  constant  and  kind  heart :  she  bowed  down  and  humbled 

^    herself,  and  kissed  the  feet,  as  it  were,  of  that  beautiful  and  generous 

affection. 

And  gratitude  was  all  that  she  had  to  pay  ba^k  for  such 
.  /  admirable  devotion  and  benefits — only  gratitude  !  If  she  thought 
J  of  any  other  return,  the  image  of  George  stood  up  out  of  the  grave, 
and  said,  "  You  are  mine,  and  mine  only,  now  and  for  ever." 

William  knew  her  feelings  :  had  he  not  passed  his  whole  life  in 
divining  them  % 

When  the  nature  of  Mr.  Osborne's  will  became  known  to  the 
world,  it  was  edifying  to  remark  how  Mrs.  George  Osborne  rose  in 
the  estimation  of  the  people  forming  her  circle  of  acquaintance. 
The  servants  of  Jos's  establishment,  who  used  to  question  her 
humble  orders,  and  say  they  would  "  ask  Master,"  whether  or  not 
they  could  obey,  never  thought  now  of  that  sort  of  appeal.  The 
cook  forgot  to  sneer  at  her  shabby  old  gowns  (which,  indeed,  were 
quite  eclipsed  by  that  lady's  finery  when  she  was  dressed  to  go  to 
church  of  a  Sunday  evening),  the  others  no  longer  grumbled  at  the 
sound  of  her  bell,  or  delayed  to  answer  that  summons.  The  coach- 
man, who  grumbled  that  his  'osses  should  be  brought  out,  and  his 
carriage  made  into  an  hospital  for  that  old  feller  and  Mrs.  0.,  drove 
her  with  the  utmost  alacrity  now,  and  trembling  lest  he  should  be 
superseded  by  Mr.  Osborne's  coachman,  asked  "what  them  there 
Russell  Square  coachmen  knew  about  town,  and  whether  they  was 
fit  to  sit  on  a  box  before  a  lady  % "  Jos's  friends,  male  and  female, 
suddenly  became  interested  about  Emmy,  and  cards  of  condolence 
multiplied  on  her  hall  table.     Jos  himself,  who  had  looked  on  her 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  599 

as  a  good-natured  harmless  pauper,  to  whom  it  was  his  duty  to  give 
victuals  and  shelter,  paid  her  and  the  rich  little  boy,  his  nephew, 
the  greatest  respect — was  anxious  that  she  should  have  change  and 
amusement  after  her  troubles  and  trials,  "poor  dear  girl" — and 
began  to  appear  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  most  particularly  to  ask 
how  she  would  like  to  dispose  of  the  day. 

In  her  capacity  of  guardian  to  Georgy,  she,  with  the  consent  of 
the  Major,  her  fellow- trustee,  begged  Miss  Osborne  to  live  in  the 
Russell  Square  house  as  long  as  ever  she  chose  to  dwell  there ;  but 
that  lady,  with  thanks,  declared  that  she  never  could  think  of 
remaining  alone  in  that  melancholy  mansion,  and  departed  in  deep 
mourning  to  Cheltenham,  with  a  couple  of  her  old  domestics.  The 
rest  were  liberally  paid  and  dismissed ;  the  faithful  old  butler,  whom 
Mrs.  Osborne  proposed  to  retain,  resigning  and  preferring  to  invest 
his  savings  in  a  public-house,  where,  let  us  hope,  he  was  not  unpros- 
perous.  Miss  Osborne  not  choosing  to  live  in  Russell  Square,  Mrs. 
Osborne  also,  after  consultation,  declined  to  occupy  the  gloomy  old 
mansion  there.  The  house  was  dismantled ;  the  rich  furniture  and 
eflfects,  the  awful  chandeliers  and  dreary  blank  mirrors  packed  away 
and  hiddec,  the  rich  rosewood  drawing-room  suite  was  muffled  in 
straw,  the  carpets  were  rolled  up  and  corded,  the  small  select 
library  of  well-bound  books  was  stowed  into  two  wine-chests,  and 
the  whole  paraphernalia  roUed  away  in  several  enormous  vans  to 
the  Pantechnicon,  where  they  were  to  lie  until  Georgy 's  majority. 
And  the  great  heavy  dark  plate-chests  went  off  to  Messrs.  Stumpy 
and  Rowdy,  to  lie  in  the  cellars  of  those  eminent  bankers  until  the 
same  period  should  arrive. 

One  day  Emmy,  with  George  in  her  hand  and  clad  in  deep  sables, 
went  to  visit  the  deserted  mansion  which  she  had  not  entered  since 
she  was  a  girl.  The  place  in  front  was  Uttered  with  straw  where 
the  vans  had  been  laden  and  rolled  oft'.  They  went  into  the  great 
blank  rooms,  the  walls  of  which  bore  the  marks  where  the  pictures 
and  mirrors  had  hung.  Then  they  went  up  the  great  blank  stone 
staircases  into  the  upper  rooms,  into  that  where  grandpapa  died,  as 
George  said  in  a  whisper,  and  then  higher  still  into  George's  own 
room.  The  boy  was  stili  clinging  by  her  side,  but  she  thought  of 
another  besides  him.  She  knew  that  it  had  been  his  father's  room 
as  well  as  his  own. 

She  went  up  to  one  of  the  open  windows  (one  of  those  at  which 
she  used  to  gaze  with  a  sick  heart  when  the  child  was  first  taken 
from  her),  and  thence  as  she  looked  out  she  could  see,  over  the  trees 
of  Russell  Square,  the  old  house  in  which  she  herself  was  bom,  and 
where  she  had  passed  so  many  happy  days  of  sacred  youth.  They 
all  came  back  to  her,  the  pleasant  holidays,  the  kind  faces,  the  care* 


6oo  VAIiTlTY   t'AIR 

less,  joyful  past  times  :  and  the  long  pains  and  trials  that  had  since 
cast  her  down.  She  thought  of  these  and  of  the  man  who  had  been 
her  constant  protector,  her  good  genius,  her  sole  benefactor,  her 
tender  and  generous  friend. 

"Look  here,  mother,"  said  Georgy,  "here's  a  G.  0.  scratched  on 
the  glass  with  a  diamond ;  I  never  saw  it  before ;  /  never  did  it." 

"  It  was  your  father's  room  long  before  you  were  born,  George," 
she  said,  and  she  blushed  as  she  kissed  the  boy. 

She  was  very  silent  as  they  drove  back  to  Richmond,  where 
they  had  taken  a  temporary  house :  where  the  smiling  lawyers  used 
to  come  bustling  over  to  see  her  (and  we  may  be  sure  noted  the 
visit  in  the  bill)  :  and  where  of  course  there  was  a  room  for  Major 
Dobbin  too,  who  rode  over  frequently,  having  much  business  to 
transact  on  behalf  of  his  little  ward. 

Georgy  at  this  time  was  removed  from  Mr.  Veal's  on  an  imlimited 
holiday,  and  that  gentleman  was  engaged  to  prepare  an  inscription 
for  a  fine  marble  slab,  to  be  placed  up  in  the  Foundling  under  the 
monument  of  Captain  George  Osborne. 

The  female  Bullock,  aunt  of  Georgy,  although  despoiled  by  that 
little  monster  of  one  half  of  the  sum  which  she  expected  from  her 
father,  nevertheless  showed  her  charitableness  of  spirit  by  being 
reconciled  to  the  mother  and  the  boy.  Roehampton  is  not  far  fi-om 
Richmond,  and  one  day  the  chariot,  with  the  golden  bullocks  em- 
blazoned on  the  panels,  and  the  flaccid  children  within,  drove  to 
Amelia's  house  at  Richmond;  and  the  Bullock  family  made  an 
irruption  into  the  garden,  where  Amelia  was  reading  a  book,  Jos  was 
in  an  arbour  placidly  dipping  strawberries  into  wine,  and  the  Major 
in  one  of  his  Indian  jackets  was  giving  a  back  to  Georgy,  who  chose 
to  jump  over  him.  He  went  over  his  head,  and  bounded  into  the 
little  advance  of  Bullocks,  with  immense  black  bows  in  their  hats, 
and  huge  black  sashes,  accompanying  their  mourning  mamma. 

"  He  is  just  of  the  age  for  Rosa,"  the  fond  parent  thought,  and 
glanced  towards  that  dear  child,  an  unwholesome  little  Miss  of  seven 
years  of  age. 

"  Rosa,  go  and  kiss  your  dear  cousin,"  Mrs.  Frederick  said. 
"  Don't  you  know  me,  George  ? — I  am  your  aunt." 

"  /  know  you  well  enough,"  George  said ;  "  but  I  don't  like 
kissing,  please ; "  and  he  retreated  from  the  obedient  caresses  of 
his  cousin. 

"  Take  me  to  your  dear  mamma,  you  droll  child,"  Mrs.  Frederick 
said ;  and  those  ladies  accordingly  met,  after  an  absence  of  more 
than  fifteen  years.  During  Emmy's  cares  and  poverty  the  other  had 
never  once  thought  about  coming  to  see  her ;  but  now  that  she  was 


A    NOTEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  6oi 

decently  prosperous  in  the  world,  her  sister-in-law  came  to  her  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

So  did  numbers  more.  Our  old  friend,  Miss  Swartz,  and  her 
husband  came  thundering  over  froi^  Hampton  Court,  with  flaming 
yellow  liveries,  and  was  as  impetuously  fond  of  Amelia  Jis  ever. 
Miss  Swartz  would  have  liked  her  always  if  she  could  have  seen 
her.  One  must  do  her  that  justice.  But,  que  voulez-vous  ? — in 
this  vast  town  one  has  not  the  time  to  go  and  seek  one's  friends  ; 
if  they  drop  out  of  the  rank  they  disappear,  and  we  march  on  with- 
out them.     Who  is  ever  missed  in  Vanity  Fair  ?  ^^ 

But  so,  in  a  word,  and  before  the  period  of  grief  for  Mr.  Osborne's 
death  had  subsided,  Emmy  found  herelf  in  the  centre  of  a  very 
genteel  circle  indeed  ;  the  members  of  which  could  not  conceive  that 
anybody  belonging  to  it  was  not  very  lucky.  There  was  scarce  one  ^ 
of  the  ladies  that  hadn't  a  relation  a  peer,  though  the  husband 
might  be  a  drysalter  in  the  City.  Some  of  the  ladies  were  very 
blue  and  well  informed;  reading  Mrs.  Somerville,  and  frequenting 
the  Royal  Institution  ;  others  were  severe  and  Evangelical,  and  held 
by  Exeter  Hall.  Emmy,  it  must  be  owned,  found  herself  entirely 
at  a  loss  in  the  midst  of  their  clavers,  and  suffered  wofuUy  on  the 
one  or  two  occasions  on  which  she  was  compelled  to  accept  Mrs. 
Frederick  Bullock's  hospitalities.  That  lady  persisted  in  patron- 
ising her,  and  determined  most  graciously  to  form  her.  She  found 
Amelia's  milliners  for  her,  and  regulated  her  household  and  her 
manners.  She  drove  over  constantly  from  Roehampton,  and  enter- 
tained her  friend  with  faint,  fashionable  fiddle-faddle  and  feeble 
Court  slipslop.  Jos  liked  to  hear  it,  but  the  Major  used  to  go  off 
growling  at  the  appearance  of  this  woman,  with  her  twopenny 
gentility.  He  went  to  sleep  under  Frederick  Bullock's  bald  head, 
after  dinner,  at  one  of  the  banker's  best  parties  (Fred  was  still 
anxious  that  the  balance  of  the  Osborne  property  should  be  trans- 
ferred from  Stumpy  and  Rowdy's  to  them),  and  whilst  Amelia,  who  did 
not  know  Latin,  or  who  wrote  the  last  crack  article  in  the  Edinburgh, 
and  did  not  in  the  least  deplore,  or  otherwise,  Mr.  Peel's  late  ex- 
traordinary tergiversation  on  the  fatal  Catholic  Relief  Bill,  sate 
dumb  amongst  the  ladies  in  the  grand  drawing-room,  looking  out 
upon  velvet  lawns,  trim  gravel  walks,  and  glistening  hot-houses. 

"  She  seems  good-natured  but  insipid,"  said  Mrs.  Rowdy ; 
"  that  Major  seems  to  be  particularly  ^pris" 

"  She  wants  ton  sadly,"  said  Mrs.  HoUyock.  "  My  dear  creature, 
you  never  will  be  able  to  form  her." 

"  She  is  dreadfully  ignorant  or  indifferent,"  said  Mrs.  Glowry, 
with  a  voice  as  if  from  the  grave,  and  a  sad  shake  of  the  head  and 
turban. — "  I  asked  her  if  she  thought  that  it  was  in  1836,  according 

2  A* 


6o2  VANITY    FAlft 

to  Mr.  Jowls,  or  in  1839,  according  to  Mr.  Wapshot,  that  the  Pope 
was  to  fall :  and  she  said — '  Poor  Pope  !  I  hope  not — What  has 
he  doner" 

"  She  is  my  brother's  widow,  my  dear  friends,"  Mrs.  Frederick 
replied,  "  and  as  such  I  think  we're  all  bound  to  give  her  every 
attention  and  instruction  on  entering  into  the  world.  You  may 
fancy  there  can  be  no  mercenary  motives  in  those  whose  du- 
appointments  are  well  known." 

"  That  poor  dear  Mrs.  Bullock,'*  said  Rowdy  to  Holly ock,  as 
they  drove  away  together — "  she  is  always  scheming  and  managing. 
She  wants  Mrs.  Osborne's  account  to  be  taken  from  our  house  to 
hers — and  the  way  in  which  she  coaxes  that  boy,  and  makes  him 
sit  by  that  blear-eyed  little  Rosa,  is  perfectly  ridiculous." 

"  I  wish  Glowry  was  choked  with  her  Man  of  Sin  and  her  Battle 
of  Armageddon,"  cried  the  other ;  and  the  carriage  rolled  away  over 
Putney  Bridge. 

But  this  sort  of  society  was  too  cruelly  genteel  for  Emmy  :  and 
all  jumped  for  joy  when  a  foreign  tour  was  proposed. 


CHAPTER  LXII 
AM  RHEIN 

THE  above  every-day  events  had  occurred,  and  a  few  weeks  had 
passed,  when  on  one  fine  morning,  Parliament  being  over,  the 
summer  advanced,  and  all  the  good  company  in  London  about 
to  quit  that  city  for  their  annual  tour  in  search  of  pleasure  or  health, 
the  Batavier  steamboat  left  the  Tower  stairs  laden  with  a  goodly 
company  of  English  fugitives.  The  quarter-deck  awnings  were  up, 
and  the  benches  and  gangways  crowded  with  scores  of  rosy  children, 
bustling  nursemaids,  ladies  in  the  prettiest  pink  bonnets  and  summer 
dresses,  gentlemen  in  travelling  caps  and  linen  jackets,  whose 
mustachios  had  just  begun  to  sprout  for  the  ensuing  tour ;  and  stout 
trim  old  veterans  with  starched  neckcloths  and  neat-brushed  hats, 
such  as  have  invaded  Europe  any  time  since  the  conclusion  of  the 
war,  and  carry  the  national  Goddem  into  every  city  of  the  Continent. 
The  congregation  of  hat-boxes,  and  Bramah  desks,  and  dressing-cases 
was  prodigious.  There  were  jaunty  young  Cambridge  men  travelling 
with  their  tutor,  and  going  for  a  reading  excursion  to  Nonnenwerth 
or  Konigswinter :  there  were  Irish  gentlemen,  with  the  most  dash- 
ing whiskers  and  jewellery,  talking  about  horses  incessantly,  and 
prodigiously  polite  to  the  young  ladies  on  board,  whom,  on  the 
contrary,  the  Cambridge  lads  and  their  pale-faced  tutor  avoided 
with  maiden  coyness :  there  were  old  Pall  Mall  loungers  bound  for 
Ems  and  Wiesbaden,  and  a  course  of  waters  to  clear  off  the  dinners 
of  the  season,  and  a  little  roulette  and  trente-et-qiiarante  to  keep 
the  excitement  going :  there  was  old  Methuselah,  who  had  married 
his  young  wife,  with  Captain  Papillon  of  the  Guards  holding  her 
parasol  and  guide-books :  there  was  young  May  who  was  carrying 
off  his  bride  on  a  pleasure  torn*  (Mrs.  Winter  that  was,  and  who 
had  been  at  school  with  May's  grandmother) ;  there  was  Sir  John 
and  my  Lady  with  a  dozen  children,  and  corresponding  nursemaids ; 
and  the  great  grandee  Bareacres  family  that  sate  by  themselves 
near  the  wheel,  stared  at  everybody,  and  spoke  to  no  one.  Their 
carriages,  emblazoned  with  coronets,  and  heaped  with  shining 
imperials,  were  on  the  foredeck ;  locked  in  with  a  dozen  more  such 
vehicles  :  it  was  difficult  to  pass  in  and  out  amongst  them  :  and  the 
19 


604  VAKITY   fktn 

poor  inmates  of  the  fore-cabin  had  scarcely  any  space  for  locomotion. 
These  consisted  of  a  few  magnificently-attired  gentlemen  from 
Houndsditch,  who  brought  their  own  provisions,  and  could  have 
bought  half  the  gay  people  in  the  grand  saloon;  a  few  honest 
fellows  with  mustachios  and  portfolios,  who  set  to  sketching  before 
they  had  been  half-an-hour  on  board ;  one  or  two  French  femmes 
de  chambre,  who  began  to  be  dreadfully  ill  by  the  time  the 
boat  had  passed  Greenwich;  a  groom  or  two  who  lounged  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  horse-boxes  under  their  charge,  or  leaned 
over  the  side  by  the  paddle-wheels,  and  talked  about  who  was 
good  for  the  Leger,  and  what  they  stood  to  win  or  lose  for  the 
Groodwood  cup. 

All  the  couriers,  when  they  had  done  plunging  about  the  ship, 
and  had  settled  their  various  masters  in  the  cabins  or  on  the  deck, 
congregated  together  and  began  to  chatter  and  smoke ;  the  Hebrew 
gentlemen  joining  them  and  looking  at  the  carriages.  There  was 
Sir  John's  great  carriage  that  would  hold  thirteen  people ;  my  Lord 
Methuselah's  carriage,  my  Lord  Bareacres'  chariot,  britzka,  and 
fourgon,  that  anybody  might  pay  for  who  liked.  It  was  a  wonder 
how  my  Lord  got  the  ready  money  to  pay  for  the  expenses  of  the 
journey.  The  Hebrew  gentlemen  knew  how  he  got  it.  They  knew 
what  money  his  Lordship  had  in  his  pocket  at  that  instant,  and 
what  interest  he  paid  for  it,  and  who  gave  it  him.  Finally  there 
was  a  very  neat,  handsome  travelling  carriage,  about  which  the 
gentlemen  speculated. 

"  A  qui  cette  voiture  la  ? "  said  one  gentleman-courier  with  a 
large  morocco  money-bag  and  ear-rings,  to  another  with  ear-rings 
and  a  large  morocco  money-bag. 

"  C^est  a  Kirsch  je  bense — -je  Vai  vu  toute  a  Vheure — qui 
brenoit  des  sangviches  dans  la  voiture"  said  the  courier  in  a  fine 
German  French. 

Kirsch  emerging  presently  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  hold, 
where  he  had  been  bellowing  instructions  intermingled  with  polyglot 
oaths  to  the  ship's  men  engaged  in  secreting  the  passengers'  luggage, 
came  to  give  an  account  of  himself  to  his  brother  interpreters.  He 
informed  them  that  the  carriage  belonged  to  a  Nabob  from  Calcutta 
and  Jamaica,  enormously  rich,  and  with  whom  he  was  engaged  to 
travel;  and  at  this  moment  a  young  gentleman  who  had  been 
warned  ofi"  the  bridge  between  the  paddle-boxes,  and  who  had 
dropped  thence  on  to  the  roof  of  Lord  Methuselah's  carriage,  from 
which  he  made  his  way  over  other  carriages  and  imperials  until  he 
had  clambered  on  to  his  own,  descended  thence  and  through  the 
window  into  the  body  of  the  carriage,  to  the  applause  of  the  couriers 
looking  on. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  605 

"  Notis  allons  avoir  ime  belle  traversee,  Monsieur  George," 
said  the  courier  with  a  grin,  as  he  lifted  his  gold-laced  cap. 

"D —  your  French,"  said  the  young  gentleman,  "where's  the 
biscuits,  ayl"  Whereupon,  Kirsch^ answered  him  in  the  English 
language,  or  in  such  an  imitation  of  it  as  he  could  command, — for 
though  he  was  familiar  with  all  languages,  Mr.  Kirsch  was  not 
acquainted  with  a  single  one,  and  spoke  all  with  indifferent  volu- 
bility and  incorrectness. 

The  imperious  young  gentleman  who  gobbled  the  biscuits  (and 
indeed  it  was  time  to  refresh  himself,  for  he  had  breakfasted  at 
Richmond  full  three  hours  before),  was  our  young  friend  George 
Osborne.  Uncle  Jos  and  his  mamma  were  on  the  quarter-deck 
with  a  gentleman  of  whom  they  used  to  see  a  good  deal,  and  the 
four  were  about  to  make  a  summer  tour. 

Jos  was  seated  at  that  moment  on  deck  under  the  awning,  and 
pretty  nearly  opposite  to  the  Earl  of  Bareacres  and  his  family, 
whose  proceedings  absorbed  the  Bengalee  almost  entirely.  Both  the 
noble  couple  looked  rather  younger  than  in  the  eventftil  year  '15, 
when  Jos  remembered  to  have  seen  them  at  Brussels  (indeed  he 
always  gave  out  in  India  that  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with 
them).  Lady  Bareacres'  hair,  which  was  then  dark,  was  now  a 
beautiftil  golden  auburn,  whereas  Lord  Bareacres'  whiskers,  formerly 
red,  were  at  present  of  a  rich  black,  with  purple  and  green  reflections 
in  the  light.  But  changed  as  they  were,  the  movements  of  the 
noble  pair  occupied  Jos's  mind  entirely.  The  presence  of  a  lord 
fascinated  him,  and  he  could  look  at  nothing  else. 

"  Those  people  seem  to  interest  you  a  good  deal,"  said  Dobbin, 
laughing  and  watching  him.  Amelia  too  laughed.  She  was  in  a 
straw  bonnet  with  black  ribbons,  and  otherwise  dressed  in  mourning  : 
but  the  little  bustle  and  holiday  of  the  journey  pleased  and  excited 
her,  and  she  looked  particularly  happy. 

"  What  a  heavenly  day  ! "  Emmy  said,  and  added,  with  great 
originality,  "  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  calm  passage." 

^  Jos  waved  his  hand,  scornfully  glancing  at  the  same  time  under 
his  eyelids  at  the  great  folks  opposite.  "If  you  had  made  the 
voyages  we  have,"  he  said,  "you  wouldn't  much  care  about  the 
v/eather."  But  nevertheless,  traveller  as  he  was,  he  passed  the 
night  direfully  sick  in  his  carriage,  where  his  courier  tended  him 
with  brandy-and-water  and  every  luxury. 

In  due  time  this  happy  party  landed  at  the  quays  of  Rotterdam, 
whence  they  were  transported  by  another  steamer  to  the  city  of 
Cologne.  Here  the  carriage  and  the  family  took  to  the  shore,  and 
Jos  was  not  a  little  gratified  to  see  his  arrival  announced  in  the 
Cologne  newspapers  as  "  Herr  Graf  Lord  von  Sedley  nebst  Beglei- 


6o6  VANITY    FAIR 

tung  aus  London."  He  had  his  court  dress  with  him :  he  had 
insisted  that  Dobbin  should  bring  his  regimental  paraphernalia :  he 
announced  that  it  was  his  intention  to  be  presented  at  some  foreign 
courts,  and  pay  his  respects  to  the  Sovereigns  of  the  countries  which 
he  honoured  with  a  visit. 

Wherever  the  party  stopped,  and  an  opportunity  was  offered, 
Mr.  Jos  left  his  own  card  and  the  Major's  upon  "Our  Minister." 
It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  he  could  be  restrained  from  putting 
on  his  cocked  hat  and  tights  to  wait  upon  the  English  consul  at 
the  Free  City  of  Judenstadt,  when  that  hospitable  functionary  asked 
our  travellers  to  dinner.  He  kept  a  journal  of  his  voyage,  and 
noted  elaborately  the  defects  or  excellences  of  the  various  inns  at 
which  he  put  up,  and  of  the  wines  and  dishes  of  which  he 
partook. 

As  for  Emmy,  she  was  very  happy  and  pleased.  Dobbin  used 
to  carry  about  for  her  her  stool  and  sketch-book,  and  admired  the 
drawings  of  the  good-natured  little  artist,  as  they  never  had  been 
admired  before.  She  sate  upon  steamers'  decks  and  drew  crags  and 
castles,  or  she  mounted  upon  donkeys  and  ascended  to  ancient  robber- 
towers,  attended  by  her  two  aides-de-camp,  Georgy  and  Dobbin. 
She  laughed,  and  the  Major  did  too,  at  his  droll  figure  on  donkey- 
back,  with  his  long  legs  touching  the  ground.  He  was  the  interpreter 
for  the  party,  having  a  good  military  knowledge  of  the  German 
language ;  and  he  and  the  delighted  George  fought  the  campaigns  of 
the  Rhine  and  the  Palatinate.  In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  and 
by  assiduously  conversing  with  Herr  Kirsch  on  the  box  of  the  carriage, 
Georgy  made  prodigious  advance  in  the  knowledge  of  High  Dutch, 
and  could  talk  to  hotel  waiters  and  postillions  in  a  way  that  charmed 
his  mother,  and  amused  his  guardian. 

Mr.  Jos  did  not  much  engage  in  the  afternoon  excursions  of  his 
fellow-travellers.  He  slept  a  good  deal  after  dinner,  or  basked  in 
the  arbours  of  the  pleasant  inn-gardens.  Pleasant  Rhine  gardens  ! 
Fair  scenes  of  peace  and  sunshine — noble  purple  mountains,  whose 
crests  are  reflected  in  the  magnificent  stream — who  has  ever  seen 
you,  that  has  not  a  grateful  memory  of  those  scenes  of  friendly  re- 
pose and  beauty  1  To  lay  down  the  pen,  and  even  to  think  of  that 
beautiful  Rhineland,  makes  one  happy.  At  this  time  of  summer 
evening,  the  cows  are  trooping  down  from  the  hills,  lowing  and  with 
their  bells  tinkling,  to  the  old  town,  with  its  old  moats,  and  gates, 
and  spires,  and  chestnut-trees,  with  long  blue  shadows  stretching 
over  the  grass ;  the  sky  and  the  river  below  flame  in  crimson  and 
gold ;  and  the  moon  is  already  out,  looking  pale  towards  the  sunset. 
The  sun  sinks  behind  the  great  castle-crested  mountains,  the  night 
fftlls  suddenly,  the  river  grows  darker  and  darker,  lights  quiver  in 


r    ^      ^^ 


■I  .^' 


r-  ' 


.^y 


A  nUB  SUMMFR  «VENJNG, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  607 

it  from  the  windows  in  the  old  ramparts,  and  twinkle  peaoeftilly 
in  the  villages  under  the  hills  on  the  opposite  shore. 

So  Jos  used  to  go  to  sleep  a  good  deal  with  his  bandanna  over 
his  face  and  be  very  comfortable,  and  read  all  the  English  news,  and 
every  word  of  Galignani's  admirable  newspaper  (may  the  blessings 
of  all  Englishmen  who  have  ever  been  abroad  rest  on  the  founders 
and  proprietors  of  that  piratical  print !),  and  whether  he  woke  or 
slept  his  friends  did  not  very  much  miss  him.  Yes,  they  were  very 
happy.  They  went  to  the  Opera  often  of  evenings — to  those  snug, 
unassuming,  dear  old  operas  in  the  German  towns,  where  the  noblesse 
sits  and  cries,  and  knits  stockings  on  the  one  side,  over  against  the 
bourgeoisie  on  the  other ;  and  His  Transparency  the  Duke  and  his 
Transparent  family,  all  very  fat  and  good-natured,  come  and  occupy 
the  great  box  in  the  middle ;  and  the  pit  is  full  of  the  most  elegant 
slim-waisted  officers  with  straw-coloured  mustachios,  and  twopence 
a  day  on  full  pay.  Here  it  was  that  Emmy  found  her  delight,  and 
was  introduced  for  the  first  time  to  the  wonders  of  Mozart  and 
Cimarosa.  The  Major's  musical  taste  has  been  before  alluded  to, 
and  his  performances  on  the  flute  commended.  But  perhaps  the 
chief  pleasure  he  had  in  these  operas  was  in  watching  Emmy's  rap- 
ture while  listening  to  them.  A  new  world  of  love  and  beauty  broke 
upon  her  when  she  was  introduced  to  those  divine  compositions  :  this 
lady  had  the  keenest  and  finest  sensibility,  and  how  could  she  be 
indifferent  when  she  heard  Mozart?  The  tender  parts  of  "Don 
Juan  "  awakened  in  her  raptures  so  exquisite  that  she  would  ask  her- 
self, when  she  went  to  say  her  prayers  of  a  night,  whether  it  was  not 
wicked  to  feel  so  much  delight  as  that  with  which  "  Vedrai  Carino  " 
and  "  Batti  Batti  "  filled  her  gentle  little  bosom  ?  But  the  Major, 
whom  she  consulted  upon  this  head,  as  her  theological  adviser  (and 
who  himself  had  a  pious  and  reverent  soul),  said  that,  for  his  part, 
every  beauty  of  art  or  nature  made  him  thankful  as  well  as  happy ; 
and  that  the  pleasure  to  be  had  in  listening  to  fine  music,  as  in 
looking  at  the  stars  in  the  sky,  or  at  a  beautiful  landscape  or  picture, 
was  a  benefit  for  which  we  might  thank  Heaven  as  sincerely  as  for 
any  other  worldly  blessing.  And  in  reply  to  some  faint  objections  of 
Mrs.  Amelia's  (taken  from  certain  theological  works  like  the  "Washer- 
woman of  Finchley  Common  "  and  others  of  that  school,  with  which 
Mrs.  Osborne  had  been  furnished  during  her  life  at  Brompton)  he 
told  her  an  Eastern  fable  of  the  Owl  who  thought  that  the  sunshine 
was  unbearable  for  the  eyes,  and  that  the  Nightingale  was  a  most 
overrated  bird.  "  It  is  one's  nature  to  sing  and  the  other's  to  hoot," 
he  said,  laughing,  "  and  with  such  a  sweet  voice  as  you  have  yourself, 
you  must  belong  to  the  Bulbul  faction." 

I  like  to  dwell  upon  this  period  of  her  life,  and  to  think  that 


6od  VANITY    FAIR 

she  was  cheerfiil  and  happy.  You  see  she  has  not  had  too  much  of 
that  sort  of  existence  as  yet,  and  has  not  fallen  in  the  way  of  means 
to  educate  her  tastes  or  her  intelligence.  She  has  been  domineered 
over  hitherto  by  vulgar  intellects-  It  is  the  lot  of  many  a  woman. 
And  as  every  one  of  the  dear  sex  is  the  rival  of  the  rest  of  her  kind, 
timidity  passes  for  folly  in  their  charitable  judgments ;  and  gentle- 
ness for  dulness ;  and  silence — which  is  but  timid  denial  of  the 
unwelcome  assertion  of  ruling  folks,  and  tacit  protestantism — above 
all,  finds  no  mercy  at  the  hands  of  the  female  Inquisition.  Thus, 
my  dear  and  civilised  reader,  if  you  and  I  were  to  find  ourselves 
this  evening  in  a  society  of  greengrocers,  let  us  say,  it  is  probable 
that  our  conversation  would  not  be  brilliant ;  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  greengrocer  should  find  himself  at  your  refined  and  polite  tea-table, 
where  everybody  was  saying  witty  things,  and  everybody  of  fashion 
and  repute  tearing  her  friends  to  pieces  in  the  most  delightful 
manner,  it  is  possible  that  the  stranger  would  not  be  very  talkative, 
and  by  no  means  interesting  or  interested. 

And  it  must  be  remembered,  that  this  poor  lady  had  never  met 
a  gentleman  in  her  life  until  this  present  moment.  Perhaps  these 
are  rarer  personages  than  some  of  us  think  for.  Which  of  us  can 
point  out  many  such  in  his  circle — men  whose  aims  are  generous, 
whose  truth  is  constant,  and  not  only  constant  in  its  kind  but 
elevated  in  its  degree ;  whose  want  of  meanness  makes  them 
simple  :  who  can  look  the  world  honestly  in  the  face  with  an  equal 
manly  sympathy  for  the  great  and  the  small?  We  all  know  a 
hundred  whose  coats  are  very  well  made,  and  a  score  who  have 
excellent  manners,  and  one  or  two  happy  beings  who  are  what  they 
call  in  the  inner  circles,  and  have  shot  into  the  very  centre  and 
bull's-eye  of  the  fashion :  but  of  gentlemen  how  many  1  Let  us 
take  a  little  scrap  of  paper  and  each  make  out  his  list. 

My  friend  the  Major  I  write,  without  any  doubt,  in  mine.  He 
had  very  long  legs,  a  yellow  face,  and  a  slight  lisp,  which  at  first 
was  rather  ridiculous.  But  his  thoughts  were  just,  his  brains  were 
fairly  good,  his  life  was  honest  and  pure,  and  his  heart  warm  and 
humble.  He  certainly  had  very  large  hands  and  feet,  which  the 
two  George  Osbornes  used  to  caricature  and  laugh  at ;  and  their 
jeers  and  laughter  perhaps  led  poor  little  Emmy  astray  as  to  his 
worth.  But  have  we  not  all  been  misled  about  our  jieroes,  and 
changed  our  opinions  a  hundred  times  ?  Emmy,  in  ^his  happy 
time,  found  that  hers  underwent  a  very  great  change  in  respect  of 
the  merits  of  the  Major. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  happiest  time  of  both  their  lives  indeed,  if 
they  did  but  know  it — and  who  does  ?  Which  of  us  can  point  out 
and  say  that  was  the  culmination — that  was  the  summit  of  human 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  609 

joy  ?  But  at  all  events,  this  couple  were  very  decently  contented, 
and  enjoyed  as  pleasant  a  summer  tour  as  any  pair  that  left  England 
that  year.  Georgy  was  always  present  at  the  play,  but  it  was  the 
Major  who  put  Emmy's  shawl  on^fter  the  entertainment ;  and  in 
the  walks  and  excursions  the  young  lad  would  be  on  ahead,  and  up 
a  tower-stair  or  a  tree,  whilst  the  soberer  couple  were  below,  the 
Major  smoking  his  cigar  with  great  placidity  and  constancy,  whilst 
Emmy  sketched  the  sight  or  the  ruin.  It  was  on  this  very  tour  I 
that  I,  the  present  writer  of  a  history  of  which  every  word  is  true,  ' 
had  the  pleasure  to  see  them  first,  and  to  make  their  acquaintance. 

It  was  at  the  little  comfortable  Ducal  town  of  Pumpernickel 
(that  very  place  where  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  had  been  so  distinguished 
as  an  attach^ ;  but  that  was  in  early  early  days,  and  before  the 
news  of  the  battle  of  Austerlitz  sent  all  the  English  diplomatists  in 
Germany  to  the  right  about)  that  I  first  saw  Colonel  Dobbin  and 
his  party.  They  had  arrived  with  the  carriage  and  courier  at  the 
Erbprinz  Hotel,  the  best  of  the  town,  and  the  whole  party  dined  at 
the  table  d^hote.  Everybody  remarked  the  majesty  of  Jos,  and  the 
knowing  way  in  which  he  sipped,  or  rather  sucked,  the  Johannis- 
berger,  which  he  ordered  for  dinner.  The  little  boy,  too,  we  observed, 
had  a  famous  appetite,  and  consumed  schinken,  and  braten,  and 
kartoffeln,  and  cranberry  jam,  and  salad,  and  pudding,  and  roast 
fowls,  and  sweetmeats,  with  a  gallantry  that  did  honour  to  his 
nation.  After  about  fifteen  dishes,  he  concluded  the  repast  with 
dessert,  some  of  which  he  even  carried  out  of  doors ;  for  some  young 
gentlemen  at  table,  amused  with  his  coolness  and  gallant  free  and 
easy  manner,  induced  him  to  pocket  a  handful  of  macaroons,  which 
he  discussed  on  his  way  to  the  theatre,  whither  everybody  went  in 
the  cheery  social  little  German  place.  The  lady  in  black,  the  boy's 
mamma,  laughed  and  blushed,  and  looked  exceedingly  pleased  and 
shy  as  the  dinner  went  on,  and  at  the  various  feats  and  instances  of 
espieglerie  on  the  part  of  her  son.  The  Colonel — for  so  he  became 
very  soon  afterwards— I  remember  joked  the  boy,  with  a  great  deal 
of  grave  fun  pointing  out  dishes  which  he  hadnH  tried,  and  entreat- 
ing him  not  to  baulk  his  appetite,  but  to  have  a  second  supply  of 
this  or  that. 

It  was  what  they  call  a  gast-rolle  night  at  the  Royal  Grand 
Ducal  Pumpemickelish  Hof, — or  Court  theatre;  and  Madame 
Schroeder  Devrient,  then  in  the  bloom  of  her  beauty  and  genius, 
performed  the  part  of  the  heroine  in  the  wonderful  opera  of 
"Fidelio."  From  our  places  in  the  stalls  we  could  see  our  four 
friends  of  the  table  d^hdte,  in  the  loge  which  Schwendler  of  the 
Erbprinz  kept  for  his  best  guests :  and  I  could  not  help  remarking 


6io  VANITY    FAIR 

the  effect  which  the  magnificent  actress  and  music  produced  upon 
Mrs.  Osborne,  for  so  we  heard  the  stout  gentleman  in  the  mustachios 
call  her.  During  the  astonishing  Chorus  of  the  Prisoners,  over 
which  the  delightful  voice  of  the  actress  rose  and  soared  in  the 
most  ravishing  harmony,  the  English  lady's  face  wore  such  an  ex- 
pression of  wonder  and  delight  that  it  struck  even  little  Fipps,  the 
blase  attach^,  who  drawled  out,  as  he  fixed  his  glass  upon  her, 
"  Gayd,  it  really  does  one  good  to  see  a  woman  caypable  of  that 
stayt  of  excaytement."  And  in  the  Prison  Scene  where  Fidelio, 
rushing  to  her  husband,  cries,  "Nichts,  nichts,  mein  Florestan," 
she  fairly  lost  herself  and  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief. 
Every  woman  in  the  house  was  snivelling  at  the  time :  but  I 
suppose  it  was  because  it  was  predestined  that  I  was  to  write  this 
particular  lady's  memoirs  that  I  remarked  her. 

The  next  day  they  gave  another  piece  of  Beethoven,  "Die 
Schlacht  bei  Vittoria."  Malbrook  is  introduced  at  the  beginning  of 
the  performance,  as  indicative  of  the  brisk  advance  of  the  French 
army.  Then  come  drums,  trumpets,  thunders  of  artillery,  and 
groans  of  the  dying,  and  at  last,  in  a  grand  triumphal  swell,  "  God 
.gave  the  King  "  is  performed. 
,4-^^<  There  may  have  been  a  score  of  Englishmen  in  the  house,  but 
at  the  burst  of  that  beloved  and  well-known  music,  every  one  of 
them,  we  young  fellows  in  the  stalls.  Sir  John  and  Lady  Bull- 
minster  (who  had  taken  a  house  at  Pumpernickel  for  the  education 
of  their  ijin^  children),  the  fat  gentleman  with  the  mustachios^ 
long  Major  iti  white  duck  trousers,  and  the  lady  Vith  the  little  boy 
upon  whom  he  was  so  sweet :  even  iQrsch,  the  courier  in  "ttie" 
gallery,  stood  bolt  upright  in  their  places,  and  proclaimed  them- 
selves to  be  members  of  the  dear  old  British  nation.  As  for  Tape- 
worm, the  Chargd  d' Affaires,  he  rose  up  in  his  box  and  bowed  and 
simpered,  as  if  he  would  represent  the  whole  empire.  Tapeworm  was 
nephew  and  heir  of  old  Marshal  Tiptoff,  who  has  been  introduced  in 
this  story  as  General  Tiptoff,  just  before  Waterloo,  who  was  Colonel 

of  the  th  regiment  in  which  Major  Dobbin  served,  and  who 

died  in  this  year  full  of  honours,  and  of  an  aspic  of  plovers'  eggs ; 
when  the  regiment  was  graciously  given  by  his  Majesty  to  Colonel 
Sir  Michael  O'Dowd,  K.C.B.,  who  had  commanded  it  in  many 
glorious  fields. 

Tapeworm  must  have  met  with  Colonel  Dobbin  at  the  house 
of  the  Colonel's  Colonel,  the  Marshal,  for  he  recognised  him  on  this 
night  at  the  theatre;  and  with  the  utmost  condescension,  his 
Majesty's  minister  came  over  from  his  own  box,  and  publicly  shook 
hands  with  his  new-found  friend. 

"Look    at    that    infernal    slyboots    of  a    Tapeworm,"    Fipps 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  6ii 

whispered,  examining  his  chief  from  the  stalls.  "  Wherever  there's 
a  pretty  woman  he  always  twists  himself  in."  And  I  wonder  what 
were  diplomatists  made  for  but  for  that  ? 

"  Have  I  the  honour  of  addre^ing  myself  to  Mrs.  Dobbin  ? " 
asked  the  Secretary,  with  a  most  insinuating  grin. 

Georgy  burst  out  laughing,  and  said,  "  By  Jove,  that  is  a  good 
'un  "—Emmy  and  the  Major  blushed  :  we  saw  them  from  the  stalls. 

''This  lady  is  Mrs.  George  Osborne,"  said  the  Major,  "and 
this  is  her  brother,  Mr.  Sedley,  a  distinguished  officer  of  the  Bengal 
Civil  Service  :  permit  me  to  introduce  him  to  your  Lordship." 

My  lord  nearly  sent  Jos  off  his  legs  with  the  most  fascinating 
smile.  "  Are  you  going  to  stop  in  Pumpernickel  1 "  he  said.  "  It 
is  a  dull  place :  but  we  want  some  nice  people,  and  we  would  try 
and  make  it  so  agreeable  to  you.  Mr. — Ahum — Mrs. — Oho.  I 
shall  do  myself  the  honour  of  calling  upon  you  to-morrow  at  your 
inn." — And  he  went  away  with  a  Parthian  grin  and  glance  which 
he  thought  must  finish  Mrs.  Osborne  completely. 

The  performance  over,  the  young  fellows  lounged  about  the 
lobbies,  and  we  saw  the  society  take  its  departure.  The  Duchess 
Dowager  went  off  in  her  jingling  old  coach,  attended  by  two  faithful 
and  withered  old  maids  of  honour,  and  a  little  snuffy  spindle-shanked 
gentleman  in  waiting,  in  a  brown  jasey  and  a  green  coat  covered 
with  orders — of  which  the  star  and  the  grand  yellow  cordon  of  the 
Order  of  St.  Michael  of  Pumpernickel  were  most  conspicuous.  The 
drums  rolled,  the  guards  saluted,  and  the  old  carriage  drove  away. 

Then  came  his  Transparency  the  Duke  and  Transparent  family, 
with  his  great  officers  of  state  and  household.  He  bowed  serenely 
to  everybody.  And  amid  the  saluting  of  the  guards,  and  the  flaring 
of  the  torches  of  the  running  footmen,  clad  in  scarlet,  the  Trans- 
parent carriages  drove  away  to  the  old  Ducal  Schloss,  with  its 
towers  and  pinnacles  standing  on  the  Schlossberg.  Everybody  in 
Pumpernickel  knew  everybody.  No  sooner  was  a  foreigner  seen 
there,  than  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  or  some  other  great  or 
small  officer  of  state,  went  round  to  the  Erbprinz,  and  foimd  out 
the  name  of  the  new  arrival. 

We  watched  them,  too,  out  of  the  theatre.  Tapeworm  had  just 
walked  off,  enveloped  in  his  cloak,  with  which  his  gigantic  chasseur 
was  always  in  attendance,  and  looking  as  much  as  possible  like  Don 
Juan.  The  Prime  Minister's  lady  had  just  squeezed  herself  into 
her  sedan,  and  her  daughter,  the  charming  Ida,  had  put  on  her 
calash  and  clogs :  when  the  English  party  came  out,  the  boy  yawn- 
ing drearily,  the  Major  taking  great  pains  in  keeping  the  shawl 
over  Mrs.  Osborne's  head,  and  Mr.  Sedley  looking  grand,  with  a 
crush  opera-hat  on  one  side  of  his  head,  and  his  hand  in  the  stomach 


6i2  VANITY    FAIR 

of  a  voluminous  white  waistcoat.  We  took  off  our  hats  to  our 
acquaintances  of  the  table  d^hAte^  and  the  lady,  in  return,  pre- 
sented us  with  a  little  smile  and  a  curtsey,  for  which  everylxxiy 
might  be  thankful. 

The  carriage  from  the  inn,  under  the  superintendence  of  the 
bustling  Mr.  Kirsch,  was  in  waiting  to  convey  the  party ;  but  the 
fat  man  said  he  would  walk,  and  smoke  his  cigar  on  his  way  home- 
wards ;  so  the  other  three,  with  nods  and  smiles  to  us,  went  without 
Mr.  Sedley;  Kirsch,  with  the  cigar-case,  following  in  his  master's 
wake. 

We  all  walked  together,  and  talked  to  the  stout  gentleman 
about  the  agrdmens  of  the  place.  It  was  very  agreeable  for  the 
English.  There  were  shooting-parties  and  battues ;  there  was  a 
plenty  of  balls  and  entertainments  at  the  hospitable  Court ;  the 
society  was  generally  good;  the  theatre  excellent,  and  the  living 


"  And  our  Minister  seems  a  most  delightful  and  affable  person," 
oiu-  new  friend  said.  "With  such  a  representative,  and — and  a 
good  medical  man,  I  can  fancy  the  place  to  be  most  eligible.  Good- 
night, gentlemen."  And  Jos  creaked  up  the  stairs  to  bedward, 
followed  by  Kirsch  with  a  flambeau.  We  rather  hoped  that  nice- 
looking  woman  would  be  induced  to  stay  some  time  in  the  town. 


J" 

CHAPTER  LXIII 

/iV  WHICH  WE  MEET  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 

SUCH  polite  behaviour  as  that  of  Lord  Tapeworm  did  not  fail 
to  have  the  most  favourable  effect  upon  Mr.  Sedley's  mind, 
and  the  very  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  he  pronounced  his 
opinion  that  Pumpernickel  was  the  pleasantest  little  place  of  any 
which  he  had  visited  on  their  tour.  Jos's  motives  and  artifices 
were  not  very  difficult  of  comprehension ;  and  Dobbin  laughed  in  his 
sleeve,  like  a  hypocrite  as  he  was,  when  he  found  by  the  knowing 
air  of  the  Civilian  and  the  off-hand  manner  in  which  the  latter 
talked  about  Tapeworm  Castle,  and  the  other  members  of  the 
family,  that  Jos  had  been  up  already  in  the  morning,  consulting  his 
travelling  Peerage.  Yes,  he  had  seen  the  Right  Honourable  the 
Earl  of  Bagwig,  his  Lordship's  father ;  he  was  sure  he  had,  he  had 
met  him  at — at  the  Levee — didn't  Dob  remember  1  and  when  the 
Diplomatist  called  on  the  party,  faithful  to  his  promise,  Jos  received 
him  with  such  a  salute  and  honours  as  were  seldom  accorded  to  the 
little  Envoy.  He  winked  at  Kirsch  on  his  Excellency's  arrival,  and 
that  emissary,  instructed  beforehand,  went  out  and  superintended 
an  entertainment  of  cold  meats,  jellies,  and  other  delicacies,  brought 
in  upon  trays,  and  of  which  Mr.  Jos  absolutely  insisted  that  his 
noble  guest  should  partake. 

Tapeworm,  so  long  as  he  could  have  an  opportunity  of  admiring 
the  bright  eyes  of  Mrs.  Osborne  (whose  freshness  of  complexion  bore 
daylight  remarkably  well)  was  not  ill  pleased  to  accept  any  invita- 
tion to  stay  in  Mr.  Sedley's  lodgings ;  he  put  one  or  two  dexterous 
questions  to  him  about  India  and  the  dancing-girls  there;  asked 
Amelia  about  that  beautiful  boy  who  had  been  with  her,  and  com- 
plimented the  astonished  little  woman  upon  the  prodigious  sensation 
which  she  had  made  in  the  house;  and  tried  to  fascinate  Dobbin 
by  talking  of  the  late  war,  and  the  exploits  of  the  Pumpernickel 
contingent  under  the  command  of  the  Hereditary  Prince,  now  Duke 
of  Pumpernickel. 

Lord  Tapeworm  inherited  no  little  portion  of  the  family  gallantry, 
and  it  was  his  happy  belief,  that  almost  every  woman  upon  whom 
he  himself  cast  friendly  eyes,  was  in  love  with  him.    He  left  Emmy 


6i4  VANITY    FAIR 

under  the  persuasion  that  she  was  slain  by  his  wit  and  attractions, 
and  went  home  to  his  lodgings  to  write  a  pretty  little  note  to  her. 
She  was  not  fascinated ;  only  puzzled  by  his  grinning,  his  simpering, 
his  scented  cambric  handkerchief,  and  his  high-heeled  lacquered  boots. 
She  did  not  understand  one  half  the  compliments  which  _he  paid,; 
she  had  never,  in  her  small  experience  of  mankind,  met  a  professional 
ladies'  man  as  yet,  and  looked  upon  my  lord  as  something  curious 
rather  than  pleasant ;  and  if  she  did  not  admire,  certainly  wondered 
at  him.  Jos,  on  the  contrary,  was  delighted.  "  How  very  affable 
his  Lordship  is  !  "  he  said.  "  How  very  kind  of  his  Lordship  to  say 
he  would  send  his  medical  man  !  Kirsch,  you  will  carry  our  cards 
to  the  Count  de  Schliisselback  directly  :  the  Major  and  I  will  have 
the  greatest  pleasure  in  paying  our  respects  at  Court  as  soon  as 
possible.  Put  out  my  uniform,  Kirsch, — both  our  uniforms.  It  is 
a  mark  of  politeness  which  every  English  gentleman  ought  to  show 
to  the  countries  which  he  visits,  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  sovereigns 
of  those  countries  as  to  the  representatives  of  his  own." 

When  Tapeworm's  doctor  came,  Doctor  von  Glauber,  Body 
Physician  to  H.S.H.  the  Duke,  he  speedily  convinced  Jos  that 
the  Pumpernickel  mineral  springs  and  the  Doctor's  particular  treat- 
ment would  infallibly  restore  the  Bengalee  to  youth  and  slimness. 
"  Dere  came  here  last  year,"  he  said,  "  Sheneral  Bulkeley,  an 
English  Sheneral,  tvice  so  pic  as  you,  sir.  I  sent  him  back  qvite 
tin  after  tree  months,  and  he  danced  wid  Baroness  dauber  at  the 
end  of  two." 

Jos's  mind  was  made  up ;  the  springs,  the  Doctor,  the  Court, 
and  the  Charg^  d'Affaires  convinced  him,  and  he  proposed  to  spend 
the  autumn  in  these  delightful  quarters. — And  punctual  to  his  word, 
on  the  next  day  the  Charg^  d'Affaires  presented  Jos  and  the  Major 
to  Victor  Aurelius  XVII.,  being  conducted  to  their  audience  with  that 
sovereign  by  the  Count  de  Schliisselback,  Marshal  of  the  Court. 

They  were  straightway  invited  to  dinner  at  Court,  and  their 
intention  of  staying  in  the  town  being  announced,  the  politest  ladies 
of  the  whole  town  instantly  called  upon  Mrs.  Osborne ;  and  as  not 
one  of  these,  however  poor  they  might  be,  was  under  the  rank  of  a 
Baroness,  Jos's  delight  was  beyond  expression.  He  wrote  off  to 
Chutney  at  the  Club  to  say  that  the  Service  was  highly  appreciated 
in  Germany,  that  he  was  going  to  show  his  friend,  the  Count  de 
Schliisselback,  how  to  stick  a  pig  in  the  Indian  fashion,  and  that 
his  august  friends,  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  were  everything  that 
was  kind  and  civil. 

Emmy,  t©o,  was  presented  to  the  august  family,  and  as  mourn- 
ing is  not  admitted  in  Court  on  certain  days,  she  appeared  in  a  pink 
crape  dress,  with  a  diamond  ornament  in  the  corsage,  presented  to 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  615 

her  by  her  brother,  and  she  looked  so  pretty  in  this  costume  that 
the  Duke  and  Court  (putting  out  of  the  question  the  Major,  who 
had  scarcely  ever  seen  her  before  in  an  evening  dress,  and  vowed  that 
she  did  not  look  five-and-twenty)  all  admired  her  excessively. 

In  this  dress  she  walked  a  Polonaise  with  Major  Dobbin  at  a 
Court-ball,  in  which  easy  dance  Mr.  Jos  had  the  honour  of  leading 
out  the  Countess  of  Schliisselback,  an  old  lady  with  a  hump-back, 
but  with  sixteen  good  quarters  of  nobility,  and  related  to  half  the 
royal  houses  of  Germany. 

Pumpernickel  stands  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  valley,  through 
which  sparkles — to  mingle  with  the  Rhine  somewhere,  but  I  have 
not  the  map  at  hand  to  say  exactly  at  what  point — the  fertilising 
stream  of  the  Pump.  In  some  places  the  river  is  big  enough  to 
support  a  ferry-boat,  in  others  to  turn  a  mill;  in  Pumpernickel 
itself,  the  last  Transparency  but  three,  the  great  and  renowned 
Victor  Aurelius  XIV.,  built  a  magnificent  bridge,  on  which  his  own 
statue  rises,  surrounded  by  water-nymphs  and  emblems  of  victory, 
peace,  and  plenty ;  he  has  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  a  prostrate  Turk — 
history  says  he  engaged  and  ran  a  Janissary  through  the  body  at 
the  relief  of  Vienna  by  Sobieski, — but,  quite  undisturbed  by  the. 
agonies  of  that  prostrate  Mahometan,  who  writhes  at  his  feet  in  the 
most  ghastly  manner,  the  Prince  smiles  blandly,  and  points  with  his 
truncheon  in  the  direction  of  the  Aurelius  Platz,  where  he  began  to 
erect  a  new  palace  that  would  have  been  the  wonder  of  his  age,  had 
the  great-souled  Prince  but  had  fiinds  to  complete  it.  But  the 
completion  of  Monplaisir  {Monhlaisir  the  honest  German  folk  call 
it)  was  stopped  for  lack  of  ready  money,  and  it  and  its  park  and 
garden  are  now  in  rather  a  faded  condition,  and  not  more  than  ten 
times  big  enough  to  accommodate  the  Court  of  the  reigning  Sovereign. 

The  gardens  were  arranged  to  emulate  those  of  Versailles,  and 
amidst  the  terraces  and  groves  there  are  some  huge  allegorical  water- 
works still,  which  spout  and  froth  stupendously  upon  fete-days,  and 
frighten  one  with  their  enormous  aquatic  insiurections.  There  is 
the  Trophonius'  cave  in  which,  by  some  artifice,  the  leaden  Tritons 
are  made  not  only  to  spout  water,  but  to  play  the  most  dreadftil 
groans  out  of  their  lead  conches — there  is  the  Nymph-bath  and  the 
Niagara  cataract,  which  the  people  of  the  neighbourhood  admire 
beyond  expression,  when  they  come  to  the  yearly  fair  at  the  opening 
of  the  Chamber,  or  to  the  ^tes  with  which  the  happy  little  nation 
still  celebrates  the  birthdays  and  marriage-days  of  its  princely 
governors. 

Then  from  all  the  towns  of  the  Duchy,  which  stretches  for 
nearly  ten  miles, — fi-om  Bolkum,  which  lies  on  its  western  frontier 
bidding  defiance  to  Prussia,  firom  Grogwitz,  where  the  Prince  has  a 


6t6  VANITY    FAIR 

hunting-lodge,  and  where  his  dominions  are  separated  by  the  Pump 
river  from  those  of  the  neighbouring  Prince  of  Potzenthal :  from  all 
the  little  villages  which,  besides  these  three  great  cities,  dot  over 
the  happy  Principality — from  the  farms  and  the  mills  along  the 
Pump,  come  troops  of  people  in  red  petticoats  and  velvet  head- 
dresses, or  with  three-cornered  hats  and  pipes  in  their  mouths,  who 
flock  to  the  Residenz  and  share  in  the  pleasures  of  the  fair  and  the 
festivities  there.  Then  the  theatre  is  open  for  nothing,  then  the 
waters  of  Monblaisir  begin  to  play  (it  is  lucky  that  there  is  company 
to  behold  them,  for  one  would  be  afraid  to  see  them  alone) — then 
there  come  mountebanks  and  riding  troops  (the  way  in  which  his 
Transparencjy  was  fascinated  by  one  of  the  horse-riders  is  well  known, 
and  it  is  believed  that  La  Petite  Vivandiere,  as  she  was  called,  was 
a  spy  in  the  French  interest),  and  the  delighted  people  are  permitted 
to  march  through  room  after  room  of  the  Grand  Ducal  palace,  and 
admire  the  slippery  floor,  the  rich  hangings,  and  the  spittoons  at 
the  doors  of  all  the  innumerable  chambers.  There  is  one  Pavilion 
at  Monblaisir  which  Victor  Aurelius  XV.  had  arranged— a  great 
Prince  but  too  fond  of  pleasure — and  which  I  am  told  is  a  perfect 
wonder  of  licentious  elegance.  It  is  painted  with  the  story  of 
Bacchus  and  Ariadne,  and  the  table  works  in  and  out  of  the  room 
by  means  of  a  windlass,  so  that  the  company  was  served  without 
any  intervention  of  domestics.  But  the  place  was  shut  up  by 
Barbara,  Aurelius  XV. 's  widow,  a  severe  and  devout  Princess  of  the 
House  of  Bolkum  and  Regent  of  the  Duchy  during  her  son's  glorious 
minority,  and  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  cut  off"  in  the  pride  of 
his  pleasures. 

The  theatre  of  Pumpernickel  is  known  and  famous  in  that 
quarter  of  Germany.  It  languished  a  little  when  the  present  Duke 
in  his  youth  insisted  upon  having  his  own  operas  played  there,  and 
it  is  said  one  day,  in  a  fury,  from  his  place  in  the  orchestra,  when 
he  attended  a  rehearsal,  broke  a  bassoon  on  the  head  of  the  Chapel 
Master,  who  was  conducting,  and  led  too  slow;  and  during  which 
time  the  Duchess  Sophia  wrote  domestic  comedies  which  must  have 
been  very  dreary  to  witness.  But  the  Prince  executes  his  music 
in  private  now,  and  the  Duchess  only  gives  away  her  plays  to  the 
foreigners  of  distinction  who  visit  her  kind  little  Court. 

It  is  conducted  with  no  small  comfort  and  splendour.  When 
there  are  balls,  though  there  may  be  four  hundred  people  at  supper, 
there  is  a  servant  in  scarlet  and  lace  to  attend  upon  every  four,  and 
every  one  is  served  on  silver.  There  are  festivals  and  entertain^ 
ments  going  continually  on;  and  the  Duke  has  his  chamberlains 
and  equerries,  and  the  Duchess  her  mistress  of  the  wardrobe  and 
ladies  of  honour,  just  like  any  other  and  more  potent  potentates. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  617 

The  Constitution  is  or  was  a  moderate  despotism,  tempered  by 
a  Chamber  that  might  or  might  not  be  elected.  I  never  certainly 
could  hear  of  its  sitting  in  my  time  at  Pumpernickel.  The  Prime 
Minister  had  lodgings  in  a  second  ^oor ;  and  the  Foreign  Secretary 
occupied  the  comfortable  lodgings  over  Zwieback's  Conditorey. 
The  army  consisted  of  a  magnificent  band  that  also  did  duty  on 
the  stage,  where  it  was  quite  pleasant  to  see  the  worthy  fellows 
marching  in  Turkish  dresses  with  rouge  on  and  wooden  scimitars, 
or  as  Roman  warriors  with  ophicleides  and  trombones, — to  see  them 
again,  I  say,  at  night,  after  one  had  listened  to  them  all  the 
morning  in  the  Aurelius  Platz,  where  they  performed  opposite  the 
Cafd  where  we  breakfasted.  Besides  the  band,  there  was  a  rich 
and  numerous  staff  of  officers,  and,  I  believe,  a  few  men.  Besides 
the  regular  sentries,  three  or  four  men,  habited  as  hussars,  used  to 
do  duty  at  the  Palace,  but  I  never  saw  them  on  horseback,  and  au 
fait,  what  was  the  use  of  cavalry  in  a  time  of  profound  peace  1 — 
and  whither  the  deuce  should  the  hussars  ride  1 

Everybody — everybody  that  was  noble  of  course,  for  as  for  the 
Bourgeois  we  could  not  quite  be  expected  to  take  notice  of  them — 
visited  his  neighbour.  H.E.  Madame  de  Burst  received  once  a 
week,  H.E.  Madame  de  Schnurrbart  had  her  night — the  theatre 
was  open  twice  a  week,  the  Court  graciously  received  once,  so  that 
a  man's  life  might  in  fact  be  a  perfect  round  of  pleasure  in  the 
unpretending  Pumpernickel  way. 

That  there  were  feuds  in  the  place,  no  one  can  deny.  Politics 
ran  very  high  at  Pumpernickel,  and  parties  were  very  bitter. 
There  was  the  Strumpff  faction  and  the  Lederlung  party,  the  one 
supported  by  our  Envoy  and  the  other  by  the  French  Charg^ 
d' Affaires,  M.  de  Macabau.  Indeed  it  sufficed  for  our  Minister  to 
stand  up  for  Madame  Strumpff,  who  was  clearly  the  greater  singer 
of  the  two,  and  had  three  more  notes  in  her  voice  than  Madame 
Lederlung  her  rival — it  sufficed,  I  say,  for  our  Minister  to  ad- 
vance any  opinion  to  have  it  instantly  contradicted  by  the  French 
diplomatist. 

Everybody  in  the  town  was  ranged  in  one  or  other  of  these 
factions.  The  Lederlung  was  a  prettyish  little  creature  certainly, 
and  her  voice  (what  there  was  of  it),  was  very  sweet,  and  there  is 
no  doubt  that  the  Strumpff  was  not  in  her  first  youth  and  beauty, 
and  certainly  too  stout ;  when  she  came  on  in  the  last  scene  of  the 
"  Sonnambula  "  for  instance  in  her  night-chemise  with  a  lamp  in  her 
hand,  and  had  to  go  out  of  the  window,  and  pass  over  the  plank  of 
the  mill,  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  squeeze  out  of  the  window,  and 
the  plank  used  to  bend  and  creak  again  under  her  weight — but  how 
she  poured  out  the  finale  of  the  opera !  and  with  what  a  burst  of 
20 


6i8  VANITY    FAIR 

feeling  she  rushed  into  Elvino's  arms — ahnost  fit  to  smother  him  ! 
Whereas  the  little  Lederlung — ^but  a  truce  to  this  gossip — the  fact 
is,  that  these  two  women  were  the  two  flags  of  the  French  and  the 
English  party  at  Pumpernickel,  and  the  society  was  divided  in  its 
allegiance  to  those  two  great  nations. 

We  had  on  our  side  the  Home  Minister,  the  Master  of  the 
Horse,  the  ]3uke's  Private  Secretary,  and  the  Prince's  Tutor : 
whereas  of  the  French  party  were  the  Foreign  Minister,  the 
Commander-in-chief's  Lady,  who  had  served  under  Napoleon,  and 
the  Hof-Marschall  and  his  wife,  who  was  glad  enough  to  get  the 
fashions  from  Paris,  and  always  had  them  and  her  caps  by  M.  de 
Macabau's  courier.  The  Secretary  of  his  Chancery  was  little 
Grignac,  a  young  fellow,  as  malicious  as  Satan,  and  who  made 
caricatures  of  Tapeworm  in  all  the  albums  of  the  place. 

Their  head-quarters  and  table  d^hote  were  established  at  the 
Pariser  Hof,  the  other  inn  of  the  town  ;  and  though,  of  course, 
these  gentlemen  were  obliged  to  be  civil  in  public,  yet  they  cut  at 
each  other  with  epigrams  that  were  as  sharp  as  razors,  as  I  have 
seen  a  couple  of  wrestlers  in  Devonshire,  lashing  at  each  other's 
shins,  and  never  showing  their  agony  upon  a  muscle  of  their  faces. 
Neither  Tapeworm  nor  Macabau  ever  sent  home  a  despatch  to  his 
government,  without  a  most  savage  series  of  attacks  upon  his  rival. 
For  instance,  on  our  side  we  would  write,  "  The  interests  of  Great 
Britain  in  this  place,  and  throughout  the  whole  of  Germany,  are 
perilled  by  the  continuance  in  office  of  the  present  French  envoy ; 
this  man  is  of  a  character  so  infamous  that  he  will  stick  at  no 
falsehood,  or  hesitate  at  no  crime,  to  attain  his  ends.  He  poisons 
the  mind  of  the  Court  against  the  English  minister,  represents  the 
conduct  of  Great  Britain  in  the  most  odious  and  atrocious  light, 
and  is  unhappily  backed  by  a  minister  whose  ignorance  and 
necessities  are  as  notorious  as  his  influence  is  fatal."  On  their 
side  they  would  say,  "M.  de  Tapeworm  continues  his  system  of 
stupid  insular  arrogance  and  vulgar  falsehood  against  the  greatest 
nation  in  the  world.  Yesterday  he  was  heard  to  speak  lightly  of 
Her  Royal  Highness  Madame  the  Duchess  of  Berri :  on  a  former 
occasion  he  insulted  the  heroic  Duke  of  Angouleme,  and  dared  to 
insinuate  that  H.R.H.  the  Duke  of  Orleans  was  conspiring  against 
the  august  throne  of  the  lilies.  His  gold  is  prodigated  in  every 
direction  which  his  stupid  menaces  fail  to  frighten.  By  one  and 
the  other,  he  has  won  over  creatures  of  the  Court  here, — and,  in 
fine,  Pumpernickel  will  not  be  quiet,  Germany  tranquil,  France 
respected,  or  Europe  content,  until  this  poisonous  viper  he  crushed 
under  heel :  "  and  so  on.  When  one  side  or  the  other  had  written 
any  particularly  spicy  despatch,  news  of  it  was  sure  to  slip  out. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  619 

Before  the  winter  was  far  advanced  it  is  actually  on  record  that 
Emmy  took  a  night  and  received  company  with  gi-eat  propriety  and 
modesty.  She  had  a  French  master  who  complimented  her  upon 
the  purity  of  her  accent  and  her/facility  of  learning;  the  fact  is 
she  had  learned  long  ago,  and  grounded  herself  subsequently  in  the 
grammar  so  as  to  be  able  to  teach  it  to  George ;  and  Madame 
Strumpff  came  to  give  her  lessons  in  singing,  which  she  performed 
so  well  and  with  such  a  true  voice  that  the  Major's  windows,  who 
had  lodgings  opposite  under  the  Prime  Minister,  were  always  open 
to  hear  the  lesson.  Some  of  the  German  ladies,  who  are  very  senti- 
mental and  simple  in  their  tastes,  fell  in  love  with  her  and  began  to 
call  her  du  at  once.  These  are  trivial  details,  but  they  relate  to 
happy  times.  The  Major  made  himself  George's  tutor,  and  read 
Caesar  and  mathematics  with  him,  and  they  had  a  German  master 
and  rode  out  of  evenings  by  the  side  of  Emmy's  carriage — she  was 
always  too  timid,  and  made  a  dreadful  outcry  at  the  slightest  dis- 
turbance on  horseback.  So  she  drove  about  with  one  of  her  dear 
German  friends,  and  Jos  asleep  on  the  back-seat  of  the  barouche. 

He  was  becoming  very  sweet  upon  the  Grafinn  Fanny  de  Butter- 
brod,  a  very  gentle  tender-hearted  and  unassuming  young  creature, 
a  Canoness  and  Countess  in  her  own  right,  but  with  scarcely  ten 
pounds  per  year  to  her  fortune,  and  Fanny  for  her  part  declared 
that  to  be  Amelia's  sister  was  the  greatest  delight  that  Heaven 
could  bestow  on  her,  and  Jos  might  have  put  a  Countess's  shield 
and  coronet  by  the  side  of  his  own  arms  on  his  carriage  and  forks  ; 
when— when  events  occurred,  and  those  grand  fetes  given  upon  the 
marriage  of  the  Hereditary  Prince  of  Pumpernickel  with  the  lovely 
Princess  Amelia  of  Humbourg-Schlippenschloppen  took  place. 

At  this  festival  the  magnificence  displayed  was  such  as  had  not 
been  known  in  the  little  German  place  since  the  days  of  the  prodigal 
Victor  XIV.  All  the  neighbouring  Princes,  Princesses,  and  Grandees 
were  invited  to  the  feast.  Beds  rose  to  half-a-crown  per  night  in 
Pumpernickel,  and  the  army  was  exhausted  in  providing  guards  of 
honour  for  the  Highnesses,  Serenities,  and  Excellencies,  who  arrived 
from  all  quarters.  The  Princess  was  married  by  proxy,  at  her 
father's  residence,  by  the  Count  de  Schliisselback.  Snuff-boxes 
were  given  away  in  profusion  (as  we  learned  from  the  Court  jeweller, 
who  sold  and  afterwards  bought  them  again),  and  bushels  of  the 
Order  of  Saint  Michael  of  Pumpernickel  were  sent  to  the  nobles 
of  the  Court,  while  hampers  of  the  cordons  and  decorations  of  the 
Wheel  of  Saint  Catherine  of  Schlippenschloppen  were  brought  to 
ours.  The  French  envoy  got  both.  "  He  is  covered  with  ribbons 
like  a  prize  cart-horse,"  Tapeworm  said,  who  was  not  allowed  by 
the  rules  of  his  service  to  take  any  decorations  :  "  Let  him  have 


620  VANITY    FAIR 

the  cordons ;  but  with  whom  is  the  victory  ? "  The  fact  is,  it  wajs 
a  triumph  of  British  diplomacy  :  the  French  party  having  proposed 
and  tried  their  utmost  to  carry  a  marriage  with  a  Princess  of  the 
House  of  Potztausend  Donnerwetter,  whom,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
we  opposed. 

Everybody  was  asked  to  the  fetes  of  the  marriage.  Garlands 
and  triumphal  arches  were  hung  across  the  road  to  welcome  the 
young  bride.  The  great  Saint  Michael's  Fountain  ran  with  un- 
commonly sour  wine,  while  that  in  the  Artillery  Place  frothed  with 
beer.  The  great  waters  played ;  and  poles  were  put  up  in  the  park 
and  gardens  for  the  happy  peasantry,  which  they  might  climb  at 
their  leisure,  carrying  off  watches,  silver  forks,  prize  sausages  hung 
with  pink  ribbon,  &c.,  at  the  top.  Georgy  got  one,  wrenching  it 
off,  having  swarmed  up  the  pole  to  the  delight  of  the  spectators,  and 
sliding  down  with  the  rapidity  of  a  fall  of  water.  But  it  was  for 
the  glory's  sake  merely.  The  boy  gave  the  sausage  to  a  peasant, 
who  had  very  nearly  seized  it,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  mast, 
blubbering,  because  he  was  unsuccessful. 

At  the  French  Chancellerie  they  had  six  more  lampions  in  their 
illuminations  than  ours  had;  but  our  transparency,  which  repre- 
sented the  young  Couple  advancing,  and  Discord  flying  away,  with 
the  most  ludicrous  likeness  to  the  French  ambassador,  beat  the 
French  picture  hollow;  and  I  have  no  doubt  got  Tapeworm  the 
advancement  and  the  Cross  of  the  Bath,  which  he  subsequently 
attained. 

Crowds  of  foreigners  amved  for  the  fetes :  and  of  English  of 
course.  Besides  the  Court  balls,  public  balls  were  given  at  the 
Town  Hall  and  the  Redoute,  and  in  the  former  place  there  was  a 
room  for  trente-et-quarante  and  roulette  established,  for  the  week 
of  the  festivities  only,  and  by  one  of  the  great  German  companies 
from  Ems  or  Aix-la-Chapelle.  The  officers  or  inhabitants  of  the 
town  were  not  allowed  to  play  at  these  games,  but  strangers, 
peasants,  ladies  were  admitted,  and  any  one  who  chose  to  lose  or 
win  money. 

That  little  scapegrace  Georgy  Osborne  amongst  others,  whose 
pockets  were  always  full  of  dollars,  and  whose  relations  were  away 
at  the  grand  festival  of  the  Court,  came  to  the  Stadthaus  ball  in 
company  of  his  uncle's  courier,  Mr.  Kirsch,  and  having  only  peeped 
into  a  play-room  at  Baden  Baden  when  he  hung  on  Dobbin's  arm, 
and  where,  of  course,  he  was  not  permitted  to  gamble,  came  eagerly 
to  this  part  of  the  entertainment,  and  hankered  round  the  tables 
where  the  croupiers  and  the  punters  were  at  work.  Women  were 
playing ;  they  were  masked,  some  of  them ;  this  licence  was  allowed 
in  these  wild  times  of  carnival. 


IK 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  621 

A  woman  with  light  hair,  in  a  low  dress,  by  no  means  so  fresh 
a«  it  had  been,  and  with  a  black  mask  on,  through  the  eyelets  of 
which  her  eyes  twinkled  strangely,  was  seated  at  one  of  the  roulette- 
tables  with  a  card  and  a  pin,  and^a  couple  of  florins  before  her.  As 
the  croupier  called  out  the  colour  and  number,  she  pricked  on  the 
card  with  great  care  and  regularity,  and  only  ventured  her  money 
on  the  colours  after  the  red  or  black  had  come  up  a  certain  number 
of  times.     It  was  strange  to  look  at  her. 

But  in  spite  of  her  care  and  assiduity  she  guessed  wrong,  and 
the  last  two  florins  followed  each  other  under  the  croupier's  rake,  as 
he  cried  out  with  his  inexorable  voice  the  winning  colour  and  number. 
She  gave  a  sigh,  a  shrug  with  her  shoulders,  which  were  already  too 
much  out  of  her  gown,  and  dashing  the  pin  through  the  card  on  to 
the  table,  sat  thmmming  it  for  a  while.  Then  she  looked  round  her, 
and  saw  Georgy's  honest  face  staring  at  the  scene.  The  little  scamp ! 
what  business  had  he  to  be  there  'i 

When  she  saw  the  boy,  at  whose  face  she  looked  hard  through 
her  shining  eyes  and  mask,  she  said,  "Monsieur  n^  est  pas  joueur  V 

"  Non^  Madame,^^  said  the  boy :  but  she  must  have  known, 
from  his  accent,  of  what  country  he  was,  for  she  answered  him 
with  a  slight  foreign  tone.  "  You  have  nevare  played — will  you  do 
me  a  littl'  favor  1 " 

"What  is  it?"  said  Georgy,  blushing  again.  Mr.  Kirsch  was 
at  work  for  his  part  at  the  rouge  et  noir,  and  did  not  see  his  young 
master. 

"  Play  this  for  me,  if  you  please ;  put  it  on  any  number,  any 
number."  And  she  took  from  her  bosom  a  purse,  and  out  of  it  a 
gold  piece,  the  only  coin  there,  and  she  put  it  into  George's  hand. 
The  boy  laughed,  and  did  as  he  was  bid. 

The  number  came  up  sure  enough.  There  is  a  power  that 
arranges  that,  they  say,  for  beginners. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  pulling  the  money  towards  her ;  "  thank 
you.     What  is  your  name  1 " 

"My  name's  Osborne,"  said  Georgy,  and  was  fingering  in  his 
own  pockets  for  dollars,  and  just  about  to  make  a  trial,  when  the 
Major,  in  his  uniform,  and  Jos,  en  Marquis,  from  the  Court  ball, 
made  their  appearance.  Other  people  finding  the  entertainment 
stupid,  and  preferring  the  fun  at  the  Stadthaus,  had  quitted  the 
Palace  ball  earlier ;  but  it  is  probable  the  Major  and  Jos  had  gone 
home  and  found  the  boy's  absence,  for  the  former  instantly  went 
up  to  him,  and  taking  him  by  the  shoulder,  pulled  him  briskly  back 
from  the  place  of  temptation.  Then,  looking  round  the  room,  he 
saw  Kirsch  employed  as  we  have  said,  and  going  up  to  him,  asked 
how  he  dared  to  bring  Mr.  George  to  such  a  olace. 


611  VANITY    FAIR 

^^  Laissez-mol  tvanquille^^  said  Mr.  Kirsch,  very  much  excited 
by  play  and  wine.  "  II  faut  s'amuser,  parhleu.  Je  ne  suispas  au 
service  de  Monsieur ^ 

Seeing  his  condition,  the  Major  did  not  choose  to  argue  with  the 
man ;  but  contented  himself  with  drawing  away  George,  and  asking 
Jos  if  he  would  come  away.  He  was  standing  close  by  the  lady  in 
the  mask,  who  was  playing  with  pretty  good  luck  now ;  and  looking 
on  much  interested  at  the  game. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  come,  Jos,"  the  Major  said,  "  with  George 
and  me  1 " 

"I'll  stop  and  go  home  with  that  rascal  Kirsch,"  Jos  said;  and 
for  the  same  reason  of  modesty,  which  he  thought  ought  to  be 
preserved  before  the  boy,  Dobbin  did  not  care  to  remonstrate  with 
Jos,  but  left  him  and  walked  home  with  Georgy. 

"Did  you  play?"  asked  the  Major,  when  they  were  out,  and  on 
their  way  home. 

The  boy  said  "No." 

"Give  me  your  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman,  that  you 
never  will." 

"  Why  1 "  said  the  boy.  "  It  seems  very  good  fun."  And,  in  a 
very  eloquent  and  impressive  manner,  the  Major  showed  him  why 
he  shouldn't,  and  would  have  enforced  his  precepts  by  the  example 
of  Georgy's  own  father,  had  he  liked  to  say  anything  that  should 
reflect  on  the  other's  memory.  When  he  had  housed  him  he  went 
to  bed,  and  saw  his  light,  in  the  little  room  outside  of  Amelia's, 
^  presently  disappear.  Amelia's  followed  half  an  hour  afterwards. 
^  I  don't  know  what  made  the  Major  note  it  so  accurately. 

Jos,  however,  remained  behind  over  the  play-table ;  he  was  no 
gambler,  but  not  averse  to  the  little  excitement  of  the  sport  now 
and  then ;  and  he  had  some  Napoleons  chinking  in  the  embroidered 
pockets  of  his  court  waistcoat.  He  put  down  one  over  the  fair 
shoulder  of  the  little  gambler  before  him,  and  they  won.  She  made 
a  little  movement  to  make  room  for  him  by  her  side,  and  just  took 
the  skirt  of  her  gown  from  a  vacant  chair  there. 

"  Come  and  give  me  good  luck,"  she  said,  still  in  a  foreign 
accent,  quite  different  from  that  frank  and  perfectly  English 
"  Thank  you,"  with  which  she  had  saluted  Georgy's  coup  in  her 
favour.  The  portly  gentleman,  looking  round  to  see  that  nobody 
of  rank  observed  him,  sat  down ;  he  muttered — "  Ah,  really,  well 
now,  God  bless  my  soul.  I'm  very  fortunate ;  I'm  sure  to  give  you 
good  fortune,"  and  other  words  of  compliment  and  confusion. 

"  Do  you  play  much  ? "  the  foreign  mask  said. 

"  I  put  a  Nap  or  two  down,"  said  Jos,  with  a  superb  air,  fling- 
ing down  a  gold  piece. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  623 

"Yes;  ay,  nap  after  dinner,"  said  the  mask  archly.  But  Jos 
looking  frightened,  she  continued,  in  her  pretty  French  accent, 
"  You  do  not  play  to  win.  No  more  do  I.  I  play  to  forget,  but  I 
cannot.  I  cannot  forget  old  times,  Monsieur.  Your  little  nephew 
is  the  image  of  his  father;  and  you — you  are  not  changed — but 
yes,  you  are.  Everybody  changes,  everybody  forgets :  nobody  has 
any  heart." 

"  Good  God,  who  is  it  ? "  asked  Jos  in  a  flutter. 

"  Can't  you  guess,  Joseph  Sedley  ? "  said  the  little  woman,  in  a 
sad  voice,  and  undoing  her  mask,  she  looked  at  him.  "  You  have 
forgotten  me." 

"  Good  heavens  !  Mrs.  Crawley  !  "  gasped  out  Jos. 

"  Rebecca,"  said  the  other,  putting  her  hand  on  his ;  but  she 
followed  the  game  still,  all  the  time  she  was  looking  at  him. 

"I  am  stopping  at  the  Elephant,"  she  continued.  "Ask  for 
Madame  de  Raudon.  I  saw  my  dear  Amelia  to-day;  how  pretty 
she  looked,  and  how  happy !  So  do  you !  Everybody  but  me, 
who  am  wretched,  Joseph  Sedley."  And  she  put  her  money  over 
from  the  red  to  the  black,  as  if  by  a  chance  movement  of  her  hand, 
and  while  she  was  wiping  her  eyes  with  a  pocket-handkerchief 
fringed  with  torn  lace. 

The  red  came  up  again,  and  she  lost  the  whole  of  that  stake. 
"Come  away,"  she  said.  "Come  with  me  a  little — we  are  old 
friends,  are  we  not,  dear  Mr.  Sedley  ? " 

And  Mr.  Kirsch,  having  lost  all  his  money  by  this  time, 
followed  his  master  out  into  the  moonlight,  where  the  illuminations 
were  winking  out,  and  the  transparency  over  our  mission  was 
scarcely  visible. 


CHAPTER  LXIV 

A    VAGABOND    CHAPTER 

WE  must  pass  over  a  part  of  Mrs.  Rebecca  Crawley's  bio- 
graphy with  that  lightness  and  delicacy  which  the  world 
demands — the  moral  world,  that  has,  perhaps,  no  parti- 
cular objection  to  vice,  but  an  insuperable  repugnance  to  hearing 
vice  called  by  its  proper  name.  There  are  things  we  do  and  know 
perfectly  well  in  Vanity  Fair,  though  we  never  speak  of  them  :  as 
the  Ahrimanians  worship  the  devil,  but  don't  mention  him :  and  a 
polite  public  will  no  more  bear  to  read  an  authentic  description  of 
vice  than  a  truly-refined  English  or  American  female  will  permit 
the  word  "  breeches  "  to  be  pronounced  in  her  chaste  hearing.  And 
yet,  Madam,  both  are  walking  the  world  before  our  faces  every  day, 
without  much  shocking  us.  If  you  were  to  blush  every  time  they 
went  by,  what  a  complexion  you  would  have !  It  is  only  when 
their  naughty  names  are  called  out  that  your  modesty  has  any 
occasion  to  show  alarm  or  sense  of  outrage,  and  it  has  been  the 
wish  of  the  present  writer,  all  through  this  story,  deferentially  to 
submit  to  the  fashion  at  present  prevailing,  and  only  to  hint  at  the 
existence  of  wickedness  in  a  light,  easy,  and  agreeable  manner,  so 
that  nobody's  fine  feelings  may  be  offended.  I  defy  any  one  to  say 
that  our  Becky,  who  has  certainly  some  vices,  has  not  been  pre- 
sented to  the  public  in  a  perfectly  genteel  and  inoffensive  manner. 
In  describing  this  siren,  singing  and  smiling,  coaxing  and  cajoling, 
the  author,  with  modest  pride,  asks  his  readers  all  round,  has  hex  i  y 
once  forgotten  the  laws  of  politeness,  and  showed  the^monster's  ^ 
hideous  tail  above  water  1  No  !  Those  who  like  may^eep  down 
under  waves  that  are  pretty  transparent,  and  see  it  writhing  and 
twirling,  diabolically  hideous  and  slimy,  flapping  amongst  bones, 
or  curling  round  corpses ;  but  above  the  water-line,  I  ask,  has  not 
everything  been  proper,  agreeable,  and  decorous,  and  has  any  the 
most  squeamish  immoralist  in  Vanity  Fair  a  right  to  cry  fie  1 
When,  however,  the  siren  disappears  and  dives  below,  down  among 
the  dead  men,  the  water  of  course  grows  turbid  over  her,  and  it  is 
labour  lost  to  look  into  it  ever  so  curiously.  They  look  pretty 
enough  when  they  sit  upon  a  rock,  twanging  their  harps  and  comb- 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  625 

ing  their  hair,  and  sing,  and  beckon  to  you  to  come  and  hold  the 
looking-glass ;  but  when  they  sink  into  their  native  element,  depend 
on  it  those  mermaids  are  about  no  good,  and  we  had  best  not 
examine  the  fiendish  marine  cannibals,  revelling  and  feasting  on 
their  wretched  pickled  victims.  And  so,  when  Becky  is  out  of  the 
way,  be  sure  that  she  is  not  particularly  well  employed,  and  that 
the  less  that  is  said  about  her  doings  is  in  fact  the  better. 

If  we  were  to  give  a  full  account  of  her  proceedings  during  a 
couple  of  years  that  followed  after  the  Curzon  Street  catastrophe,       ^    .  _^ 
there  might  be  some  reason  for  people  to  say  this  book  was  im-  uV-»  "^  ^ 
proper.     The  actions  of  very  vain,  heartless,  pleasure-seeking  people     "c?"^*"''^ 
are  very  often  improper  (as  are  many  of  yours,  my  friend  with  the       _^ji/- 
grave  face  and  spotless  reputation; — but  that  is  merely  by  the     '"^"^^'^ 
way)  ;  and  what  are  those  of  a  woman  without  faith — or  love — or  -^  \M'*'^  - 
character  %    And  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  there  was  a  period  in      '^■^^^ 
Mrs.  Becky*  life,  when  she  was  seized,  not  by  remorse,  but  by  a 
kind  of  Niespair,  and  absolutely  neglected  her  person,  and  did  not 
eyeji  carejbr  her  reputation. 

This  abattement  and  degradation  did  not  take  place  all  at  once  : 
it  was  brought  about  by  degrees,  after  her  calamity,  and  after  many 
struggles  to  keep  up — as  a  man  who  goes  overboard  hangs  on  to  a 
spar  whilst  any  hope  is  left,  and  then  flings  it  away  and  goes  down, 
when  he  finds  that  struggling  is  in  vain. 

She  lingered  about  London  whilst  her  husband  was  making  pre- 
parations for  his  departure  to  his  seat  of  government :  and  it  is 
believed  made  more  than  one  attempt  to  see  her  brother-in-law.  Sir 
Pitt  Crawley,  and  to  work  upon  his  feelings,  which  she  had  almost 
enlisted  in  her  favour.  As  Sir  Pitt  and  Mr.  Wenham  were  walking 
down  to  the  House  of  Commons,  the  latter  spied  Mrs.  Rawdon  in 
a  black  veil,  and  lurking  near  the  palace  of  the  legislature.  She 
sneaked  away  when  her  eyes  met  those  of  Wenham,  and  indeed 
never  succeeded  in  her  designs  upon  the  Baronet. 

Probably  Lady  Jane  interposed.  I  have  heard  that  she  quite 
astonished  her  husband  by  the  spirit  which  she  exhibited  in  this 
quarrel,  and  her  determination  to  disown  Mrs.  Becky.  Of  her  own 
movement,  she  invited  Rawdon  to  come  and  stop  in  Gaunt  Street 
until  his  departure  for  Coventry  Island,  knowing  that  with  him  for 
a  guard  Mrs.  Becky  would  not  try  to  force  her  door  :  and  she  looked 
curiously  at  the  superscriptions  of  all  the  letters  which  arrived  for  Sir 
Pitt,  lest  he  and  his  sister  in-law-should  be  corresponding.  Not  but 
that  Rebecca  could  have  written  had  she  a  mind :  but  she  did  not 
try  to  see  or  to  write  to  Pitt  at  his  own  house,  and  after  one  or  two 
attempts  consented  to  his  demand  that  the  correspondence  regarding 
her  eoDJugal  differences  should  be  carried  on  by  lawyers  only. 


6a6  VANITY    FAIR 

The  fact  was,  that  Pitt's  mind  had  been  poisoned  against  her. 
A  short  time  after  Lord  Steyne's  accident,  Wenham  had  been  with 
the  Baronet ;  and  given  him  such  a  biography  of  Mrs.  Becky  as  had 
astonished  the  member  for  Queen's  Crawley.  He  knew  everything 
regarding  her  :  who  her  father  was  ;  in  what  year  her  mother  danced 
at  the  Opera ;  what  had  been  her  previous  history,  and  what  her 
conduct  during  her  married  hfe : — as  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  story  was  false  and  dictated  by  interested  male- 
volence, it  shall  not  be  repeated  here.  But  Becky  was  left  with  a 
sad  sad  reputation  in  the  esteem  of  a  country  gentleman  and  relative 
who  had  been  once  rather  partial  to  her. 

The  revenues  of  the  Governor  of  Coventry  Island  are  not  large. 
A  part  of  them  were  set  aside  by  his  Excellency  for  the  payment  of 
certain  outstanding  debts  and  liabilities,  the  charges  incident  on  his 
high  situation  required  considerable  expense ;  finally,  it  was  found 
that  he  could  not  spare  to  his  wife  more  than  three  himdred  pounds 
a  year,  which  he  proposed  to  pay  to  her  on  an  undertaking  that  she 
would  never  trouble  him.  Otherwise  :  scandal,  separation.  Doctors' 
Commons  would  ensue.  But  it  was  Mr.  Wenliam's  business.  Lord 
Steyne's  business,  Rawdon's,  everybody's — to  get  her  out  of  the 
country,  and  hush  up  a  most  disagreeable  affair. 

She  was  probably  so  much  occupied  in  arranging  these  affairs  of 
business  with  her  husband's  lawyers,  that  she  forgot  to  take  any 
step  whatever  about  her  son,  the  little  Rawdon,  and  did  not  even 
once  propose  to  go  and  see  him.  That  young  gentleman  was  con- 
signed to  the  entire  guardianship  of  his  aunt  and  uncle,  the  former 
of  whom  had  always  possessed  a  great  share  of  the  child's  affection. 
His  mamma  wrote  him  a  neat  letter  from  Boulogne  when  she  quitted 
England,  in  which  she  requested  him  to  mind  his  book,  and  said  she 
was  going  to  take  a  Continental  tour,  during  which  she  would  have 
the  pleasure  of  writing  to  him  again.  But  she  never  did  for  a  year 
afterwards,  and  not,  indeed,  until  Sir  Pitt's  only  boy,  always  sickly, 
died  of  hooping-cough  and  measles ; — then  Rawdon's  mamma  wrote 
the  most  affectionate  composition  to  her  darling  son,  who  was  made 
heir  of  Queen's  Crawley  by  this  accident,  and  drawn  more  closely 
than  ever  to  the  kind  lady,  whose  tender  heart  had  already  adopted 
him.  Rawdon  Crawley,  then  grown  a  tall,  fine  lad,  blushed  when 
he  got  the  letter.  "  Oh,  Aunt  Jane,  you  are  my  mother  ! "  he  said  ; 
''and  not — and  not  that  one."  But  he  wrote  back  a  kind  and 
respectful  letter  to  Mrs.  Rebecca,  then  living  at  a  boarding-house  at 
Florence  — But  we  are  advancing  matters 

Our  darling  Becky's  first  flight  was  not  very  far.  She  perched 
upon  the  French  coast  at  Boulogne,  that  refuge  of  so  much  exiled 
English  innocence;  and  there  lived  in  rather  a  genteel,  widowed 


A    NOVEL    WITflOUl^    A    HERO  627 

manner,  with  a  femme  de  chamhre  and  a  couple  of  rooms,  at  an 
hotel.  She  dined  at  the  table  d'hote,  where  people  thought  her 
very  pleasant,  and  where  she  entertained  her  neighbours  by  stories 
of  her  brother.  Sir  Pitt,  and  her  gi^at  London  acquaintance  ;  talking 
that  easy,  fashionable  slipslop,  which  has  so  much  effect  upon  certain 
folks  of  small  breeding.  She  passed  with  many  of  them  for  a  person 
o^importance ;  she  gave  little  tea-parties  in  her  private  room,  and 
shared  in  the  innocent  amusements  of  the  place, — in  sea-bathing, 
and  in  jaunts  in  open  carriages,  in  strolls  on  the  sands,  and  in  visits 
to  the  play.  Mrs.  Burjoice,  the  printer's  lady,  who  was  boarding 
with  her  family  at  the  hotel  for  the  summer,  and  to  whom  her 
Burjoice  came  of  a  Saturday  and  Sunday,  voted  her  charming,  until 
that  little  rogue  of  a  Burjoice  began  to  pay  her  too  much  attention. 
But  there  was  nothing  in  the  story,  only  that  Becky  was  always 
affable,  easy,  and  good-natured — and  with  men  especially. 

Numbers  of  people  were  going  abroad  as  usual  at  the  end  of 
the  season,  and  Becky  had  plenty  of  opportunities  of  finding  out  by 
the  behaviour  of  her  acquaintances  of  the  great  London  world  the 
opinion  of  "society"  as  regarded  her  conduct.  One  day  it  was 
Lady  Partlet  and  her  daughters  whom  Becky  confronted  as  she  was 
walking  modestly  on  Boulogne  pier,  the  cliffs  of  Albion  shining  in 
the  distance  across  the  deep  blue  sea.  Lady  Partlet  marshalled  all 
her  daughters  round  her  with  a  sweep  of  her  parasol,  and  retreated 
from  the  pier  darting  savage  glances  at  poor  little  Becky  who  stood 
alone  there. 

On  another  day  the  packet  came  in.  It  had  been  blowing  fresh, 
and  it  always  suited  Becky's  humour  to  see  the  droll  woebegone 
faces  of  the  people  as  they  emerged  from  the  boat.  Lady  Slingstone 
happened  to  be  on  board  this  day.  Her  Ladyship  had  been  exceed- 
ingly ill  in  her  carriage,  and  was  greatly  exhausted  and  scarcely  fit 
to  walk  up  the  plank  from  the  ship  to  the  pier.  But  all  her  energies 
rallied  the  instant  she  saw  Becky  smiling  roguishly  under  a  pink 
bonnet :  and  giving  her  a  glance  of  scorn,  such  as  would  have 
shrivelled  up  most  women,  she  walked  into  the  Custom  House  quite 
unsupported.  Becky  only  laughed  :  but  I  don't  think  she  liked  it. 
She  felt  she  was  alone,  quite  alone  :  and  the  far-off  shining  cliffs  of 
England  were  impassable  to  her. 

The  behaviour  of  the  men  had  undergone  too  I  don't  know  what 
change.  Grinstone  showed  his  teeth  and  laughed  in  her  face  with  a 
familiarity  that  was  not  pleasant.  Little  Bob  Suckling,  who  was 
cap  in  hand  to  her  three  months  before,  and  would  walk  a  mile  in 
the  rain  to  see  for  her  carriage  in  the  line  at  Gaunt  House,  was 
talking  to  Fitzoof  of  the  Guards  (Lord  Heehaw's  son)  one  day  upon 
the  jetty,  as  Becky  took  her  walk  there.     Little  Bobby  nodded  to 


62§  VANITY    FAIR 

her  over  his  shoulder,  without  moving  his  hat,  and  continued  his 
conversation  with  the  heir  of  Heehaw.  Tom  Raikes  tried  to  walk 
into  her  sitting-room  at  the  inn  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth ;  but  she 
closed  the  door  upon  him  and  would  have  locked  it  only  that  his 
fingers  were  inside.  She  began  to  feel  that  she  was  very  lonely 
indeed.  "  If  he^d  been  here,"  she  said,  "  those  cowards  would  never 
have  dared  to  insult  me."  She  thought  about  "him"  with  great 
sadness,  and  perhaps  longing— about  his  honest,  stupid,  constant 
kindness  and  fidehty ;  his  never-ceasing  obedience ;  his  good-humour, 
his  bravery  and  courage.  Very  likely  she  cried,  for  she  was  particu- 
larly lively,  and  had  put  on  a  little  extra  rouge  when  she  came  down 
to  dinner. 

She  rouged  regularly  now  :  and — and  her  maid  got  Cognac  for 
her  besides  that  which  was  charged  in  the  hotel  bill. 

Perhaps  the  insults  of  the  men  were  not,  however,  so  intolerable 
to  her  as  the  sympathy  of  certain  women.  Mrs.  Crackenbury  and 
Mrs.  Washington  White  passed  through  Boulogne  on  their  way  to 
Switzerland.  (The  party  were  protected  by  Colonel  Horner,  young 
Beaumoris,  and  of  course  old  Crackenbury,  and  Mrs.  White's  little 
girl.)  They  did  not  avoid  her.  They  giggled,  cackled,  tattled,  con- 
doled, consoled,  and  patronised  her  until  they  drove  her  almost  wild 
with  rage.  To  be  patronised  by  them !  she  thought,  as  they  went 
away  simpering  after  kissing  her.  And  she  heard  Beaumoris's  laugh 
ringing  on  the  stair,  and  knew  quite  well  how  to  interpret  his  hilarity. 

It  was  after  this  visit  that  Becky,  who  had  paid  her  weekly 
bills,  Becky  who  had  made  herself  agreeable  to  everybody  in  the 
house,  who  smiled  at  the  landlady,  called  the  waiters  "Monsieur," 
and  paid  the  chambermaids  in  politeness  and  apologies,  what  far  more 
than  compensated  for  a  little  niggardliness  in  point  of  money  (of 
which  Becky  never  was  free),  that  Becky,  we  say,  received  a  notice 
to  quit  from  the  landlord,  who  had  been  told  by  some  one  that  she 
was  quite  an  unfit  person  to  have  at  his  hotel,  where  English  ladies 
would  not  sit  down  with  her.  And  she  was  forced  to  fly  into  lodgings, 
of  which  the  dulness  and  solitude  were  most  wearisome  to  her. 

Still  she  held  up,  in  spite  of  these  rebufis,  and  tried  to  make  a 
character  for  herself,  and  conquer  scandal.  She  went  to  church  very 
regularly,  and  sang  louder  than  anybody  there.  She  took  up  the 
cause  of  the  widows  of  the  shipwrecked  fishermen,  and  gave  work 
and  drawings  for  the  Quashyboo  Mission;  she  subscribed  to  the 
Assembly  and  wouldn't  waltz.  In  a  word,  she  did  everything  that 
was  respectable,  and  that  is  why  we  dwell  upon  this  part  of  her 
career  with  more  fondness  than  upon  subsequent  parts  of  her  history, 
which  are  not  so  pleasant.  She  saw  people  avoiding  her,  and  still 
laboriously  smiled  upon  them ;  you  never  could  suppose  from  her 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  629 

countenance  what  pangs   of  humiliation   she  might   be   enduring 
inwardly. 

Her  history  was  after  all  a  mystery.  Parties  were  divided  about 
her.  Some  people,  who  took  th^  trouble  to  busy  themselves  in  the 
matter,  said  that  she  was  the  criminal ;  whilst  others  vowed  that  she 
was  as  innocent  as  a  lamb,  and  that  her  odious  husband  was  in  fault. 
She  won  over  a  good  many  by  bursting  into  tears  about  her  boy,  and 
exhibiting  the  most  frantic  grief  when  his  name  was  mentioned,  or 
she  saw  anybody  like  him.  She  gained  good  Mrs.  Aldemey's  heart 
in  that  way,  who  was  rather  the  Queen  of  British  Boulogne,  and 
gave  the  most  dinners  and  balls  of  all  the  residents  there,  by  weeping 
when  Master  Alderney  came  from  Dr.  SwishtaiFs  academy  to  pass 
his  holidays  with  his  mother.  "  He  and  her  Rawdon  were  of  the 
same  age,  and  so  like,"  Becky  said,  in  a  voice  choking  with  agony  ; 
whereas  there  was  five  years'  difference  between  the  boys'  ages,  and 
no  more  likeness  between  them  than  between  my  respected  reader 
and  his  humble  servant.  Wenham,  when  he  was  going  abroad,  on 
his  way  to  Kissingen  to  join  Lord  Steyne,  enlightened  Mrs.  Alderney 
on  this  point,  and  told  her  how  he  was  much  more  able  to  describe 
little  Rawdon  than  his  mamma,  who  notoriously  hated  him,  and 
never  saw  him ;  how  he  was  thirteen  years  old,  while  little  Alderney 
was  but  nine ;  fair,  while  the  other  darHng  was  dark, — in  a  word, 
caused  the  lady  in  question  to  repent  of  her  good-humour. 

Whenever  Becky  made  a  little  circle  for  herself  with  incredible  \^ 
toils  and  labour,  somebody  came  and  swept  it  down  rudely,  and  she  ;. 
had  all  her  work  to  begin  over  again.     It  was  very  hard :   very    \ 
hard ;  lonely  and  disheartening.  ^.X^ 

There  was  Mrs.  Newbright,  who  took  her  up  for  some  time,  " 
attracted  by  the  sweetness  of  her  singing  at  church,  and  by  her 
proper  views  upon  serious  subjects,  concerning  which  in  former  days, 
at  Queen's  Crawley,  Mrs.  Becky  had  had  a  good  deal  of  instruction. 
— Well,  she  not  only  took  tracts,  but  she  read  them.  She  worked 
flannel  petticoats  for  the  Quashyboos — cotton  nightcaps  for  the 
Cocoanut  Indians — painted  hand-screens  for  the  conversion  of  the 
Pope  and  the  Jews— sate  under  Mr.  Rowls  on  Wednesdays,  Mr. 
Huggleton  on  Thiirsdays,  attended  two  Sunday  services  at  church, 
besides  Mr.  Bawler,  the  Darbyite,  in  the  evening,  and  all  in  vain. 
Mrs.  Newbright  had  occasion  to  correspond  with  the  Countess  of 
Southdown  about  the  Warmingpan  Fund  for  the  Feejee  Islanders 
(for  the  management  of  which  admirable  charity  both  these  ladies 
formed  part  of  a  female  committee),  and  having  mentioned  her 
"sweet  friend,"  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  the  Dowager  Countess 
wrote  back  such  a  letter  regarding  Becky,  with  such  particulars, 
hints,  facts,  falsehoods,  and  general  comminations,  that  intimacy 


6^6  VANITY    FAIR 

between  Mrs.  Newbright  and  Mrs.  Crawley  ceased  forthwith  :  and 
all  the  serious  world  of  Tours,  where  this  misfortune  took  place, 
immediately  parted  company  with  the  reprobate.  Those  who  know 
the  English  Colonies  abroad  know  that  we  carry  with  us  our  pride, 
pills,  prejudices,  Harvey-sauces,  cayenne-peppers,  and  other  Lares, 
making  a  little  Britain  wherever  we  settle  down. 

From  one  colony  to  another  Becky  fled  uneasily.  From  Boulogne 
to  Dieppe,  from  Dieppe  to  Caen,  from  Caen  to  Tours — trying  with 
all  her  might  to  be  respectable,  and  alas !  always  found  out  some 
day  or  other,  and  pecked  out  of  the  cage  by  the  real  daws. 

Mrs.  Hook  Eagles  took  her  up  at  one  of  these  places  : — a  woman 
without  a  blemish  in  her  character,  and  a  house  in  Portman  Square. 
She  was  staying  at  the  hotel  at  Dieppe,  whither  Becky  fled,  and 
they  made  each  other's  acquaintance  first  at  sea,  where  they  were 
swimming  together,  and  subsequently  at  the  table  d^hote  of  the  hotel. 
Mrs.  Eagles  had  heard, — who  indeed  had  not  ? — some  of  the  scandal 
of  the  Steyne  affair ;  but  after  a  conversation  with  Becky,  she  pro- 
nounced that  Mrs.  Crawley  was  an  angel,  her  husband  a  ruffian. 
Lord  Steyne  an  unprincipled  wretch,  as  everybody  knew,  and  the 
whole  case  against  Mrs.  Crawley  an  infamous  and  wicked  conspiracy 
of  that  rascal  Wenham.  "  If  you  were  a  man  of  any  spirit,  Mr. 
Eagles,  you  would  box  the  wretch's  ears  the  next  time  you  see  him 
at  the  Club,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  But  Eagles  was  only  a  quiet 
old  gentleman,  husband  to  Mrs.  Eagles,  with  a  taste  for  geology, 
and  not  tall  enough  to  reach  anybody's  ears. 

Mrs.  Eagles  then  patronised  Mrs.  Rawdon,  took  her  to  live  with 
her  at  her  own  house  at  Paris,  quarrelled  with  the  ambassador's 
wife  because  she  would  not  receive  her  prot^g^e,  and  did  all  that 
lay  in  woman's  power  to  keep  Becky  straight  in  the  paths  of  virtue 
and  good  repute. 

Becky  was  very  respectable  and  orderly  at  first,  but  j^e^life  of 
humdrum  virtue  grew  utterly  tedious  to  her  before  long.  .  Itjwas~ 
the  same  routine  every  day,  the  same  dulness  andcomfort,  the 
same  drive  over  the  same  stupid  Bois  de  Boulogne,  tlie  same  cora^— 
pany  of  an  evening,  the  same  Blair's  Sermon  of  a  Sunday  night — 
the  same  opera  always  being  acted  over  and  over  again  :  Becky  was 
dying  of  weariness,  when,  luckily  for  her,  young  Mr.  Eagles  came 
from  Cambridge,  and  his  mother,  seeing  the  impression  which  her 
little  friend  made  upon  him,  straightway  gave  Becky  warning. 

Then  she  tried  keeping  house  with  a  female  friend ;  then  the 
double  manage  began  to  quarrel  and  get  into  debt.  Then  she 
determined  upon  a  boarding-house  existence,  and  lived  for  some 
time  at  that  famous  mansion  kept  by  Madame  de  Saint  Amour, 
in  the  Rue  Royale,  at  Paris,  where  she  began  exercising  her  graces 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO      6$i 


8  V/ 

'.'  A 


and  fascinations  upon  the  shabby  dandies  and  fly-blown  beauties 
who  frequented  her  landlady's  salons.  Becky  loved  society,  and 
indeed,  could  no  more  exist  without  it  than  an  opium-eater  without 
his  dram,  and  she  was  happy  enougK'  at  the  period  of  her  boarding- 
house  life.  "The  women  here  are  as  amusing  as  those  in  May 
Fair,"  she  told  an  old  London  friend  who  met  her — "only,  their 
dresses  are  not  quite  so  fresh.  The  men  wear  cleaned  gloves,  and 
are  sad  rogues,  certainly,  but  they  are  not  worse  than  Jack  This, 
and  Tom  That.     The  mistress  of  the  house  is  a  little  vulgar,  but 

I  don't  think  she  is  so  vulgar  as  Lady "  and  here  she  named 

the  name  of  a  great  leader  of  fashion  that  I  would  die  rather  than 
reveal.  In  fact,  when  you  saw  Madame  de  Saint  Amour's  rooms 
lighted  up  of  a  night,  men  with  plaques  and  cordons  at  the  ^cart4 
tables,  and  the  women  at  a  little  distance,  you  might  fancy  yourself 
for  a  while  in  good  society,  and  that  Madame  was  a  real  Countess. 
Many  people  did  so  fancy :  and  Becky  was  for  a  while  one  of  the 
most  dashing  ladies  of  the  Countess's  salons. 

But  it  is  probable  that  her  old  creditors  of  1815  found  her  out 
and  caused  her  to  leave  Paris,  for  the  poor  little  woman  was  forced 
to  fly  from  the  city  rather  suddenly  ;  and  went  thence  to  Brussels. 

How  well  she  remembered  the  place  !      She  grinned  as   she 
looked  up  at  the  little  entresol  which  she  had  occupied,  and  thought 
of  the  Bareacres  family,   bawling  for  horses  and  flight,  as   their 
carriage  stood  in   the  porte-cochere   of  the  hotel.      She  went  to 
Waterloo  and  to  Laeken,  where  George  Osborne's  monument  much 
struck  her.     She  made  a  little  sketch  of  it.     "  That  poor  Cupid  !  "  ")  / 
she  said ;  "  how  dreadfuUy  he  was  in  love  with  me,  and  what  a  fool  / 
he  was  !     I  wonder  whether  little  Emmy  is  alive.     It  was  a  good 
little  creature :  and  that  fat  brother  of  hers.     I  have  his  funny  fat  \ 
picture  still  among  my  papers.     They  were  kind  simple  people."  ^—  \ 

At  Brussels  Becky  arrived,  recommended  by  Madame  de  Sainf"^ 
Amour  to  her  friend,  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Borodino,  widow  of 
Napoleon's  General,  the  famous  Count  de  Borodino,  who  was  left 
with  no  resource  by  the  deceased  hero  but  that  of  a  table  d^hote  and 
an  ecarti,  table.  Second-rate  dandies  and  ronis^  widow-ladies  who 
always  have  a  lawsuit,  and  very  simple  English  folk,  who  fancy 
they  see  "  Continental  society "  at  these  houses,  put  down  their 
money,  or  ate  their  meals,  at  Madame  de  Borodino's  tables.  The 
gallant  young  fellows  treated  the  company  round  to  champagne  at 
the  table  d^hote,  rode  out  with  the  women,  or  hired  horses  on  country 
excursions,  clubbed  money  to  take  boxes  at  the  play  or  the  Opera, 
betted  over  the  fair  shoulders  of  the  ladies  at  the  ^cart^  tables,  and 
wrote  home  to  their  parents,  in  Devonshire,  about  their  felicitous 
introduction  to  foreign  society. 


632 


VANITY    FAIR 


Here,  as  at  Paris,  Becky  was  a  boarding-house  queen  :  and  ruled 
in  select  pensions.  She  never  refused  the  champagne,  or  the 
bouquets,  or  the  drives  into  the  country,  or  the  private  boxes ; 
but  what  she  preferred  was  the  ecarti  at  night, — and  she  played 
audaciously.  First  she  played  only  for  a  little,  then  for  five-franc 
pieces,  then  for  napoleons,  then  for  notes  :  then  she  would  not  be 
able  to  pay  her  month's  Joe7is^(97^ ;  then  she  borrowed  from  the  young 
gentlemen :  then  she  got  into  cash  again,  and  bullied  Madame  de 
Borodino,  whom  she  had  coaxed  and  wheedled  before  :  then  she  was 
playing  for  ten  sous  at  a  time,  and  in  a  dire  state  of  poverty :  then 
her  quarter's  allowance  would  come  in,  and  she  would  pay  off 
Madame  de  Borodino's  score :  and  would  once  more  take  the  cards 
against  Monsieur  de  Rossignol,  or  the  Chevalier  de  Raif. 

When  Becky  left  Brussels,  the  sad  truth  is,  that  she  owed  three 
months'  pension  to  Madame  de  Borodino,  of  which  fact,  and  of  the 
gambling,  and  of  the  drinking,  and  of  the  going  down  on  her  knees 
to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Muff,  Ministre  Anglican,  and  borrowing  money 
of  him,  and  of  her  coaxing  and  flirting  with  Milor  Noodle,  son  of 
Sir  Noodle,  pupil  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Muff,  whom  she  used  to  take  into 
her  private  room,  and  of  whom  she  won  large  sums  at  ^carte — of 
which  fact,  I  say,  and  of  a  hundred  of  her  other  knaveries,  the 
Countess  de  Borodino  informs  every  English  person  who  stops  at  her 
establishment,  and  announces  that  Madame  Rawdon  was  no  better 
than  a  vipere. 

So  our  little  wanderer  went  about,  setting  up  her  tent  in  various 
cities  of  Europe,  as  restless  as  Ulysses  or  Bampfylde  Moore  Carew. 
Her  taste  for  disrespeCtability  grew  more  and  more  remarkable. 
•She  became  a  perfect  Bohemian  ^re  long,  herding  with  people  whom 
it  would  make  your  hair  stand  on  end  to  meet. 

There  is  no  town  of  any  mark  in  Europe  but  it  has  its  little 
colony  of  English  raffs — men  whose  names  Mr.  Hemp  the  officer 
reads  out  periodically  at  the  Sheriffs'  Court — young  gentlemen  of 
very  good  family  often,  only  that  the  latter  disowns  them ;  frequenters 
of  billiard-rooms  and  estaminets,  patrons  of  foreign  races  and  gaming- 
tables. They  people  the  debtors'  prisons — 4hey  drink  and  swagger — 
they  fight  and  brawl — they  run  away  without  paying — they  have 
duels  with  French  and  German  officers — they  cheat  Mr.  Spooney  at 
4carU — they  get  the  money,  and  drive  off  to  Baden  in  magnificent 
britzkas — they  try  their  infallible  martingale,  and  lurk  about  the 
tables  with  empty  pockets  —  shabby  bullies,  penniless  bucks — 
until  they  can  swindle  a  Jew  banker  with  a  sham  bill  of  exchange, 
or  find  another  Mr.  Spooney  to  rob.  The  alternations  of  splendour 
and  misery  which  these  people  undergo  are  very  queer  to  view. 
Their  life  must  be  one  of  great  excitement.     Becky — must  it  be 


A   NOVEL   WiTfiOtJT   A   HERO  63^ 

Dwned  ? — took  to  this  life,  and  took  to  it  not  unkindly.  She  went 
about  from  town  to  town  among  these  Bohemians.  The  lucky  Mrs. 
Rawdon  was  known  at  every  play-table  in  Germany.  She  and 
Madame  de  Cruchecassde  kept  Ijouse  at  Florence  together.  It  is 
said  she  was  ordered  out  of  Munich  ;  and  my  friend  Mr.  Frederick 
Pigeon  avers  that  it  was  at  her  house  at  Lausanne  that  he  was 
hocussed  at  supper  and  lost  eight  hundred  pounds  to  Major  Loder 
and  the  Honourable  Mr.  Deuceace.  We  are  bound,  you  see,  to  give 
some  account  of  Becky's  biography ;  but  of  this  part,  the  less,  per- 
haps, that  is  said  the  better. 

They  say,  that  when  Mrs.  Crawley  was  particularly  down  on 
her  luck,  she  gave  concerts  and  lessons  in  music  here  and  there. 
There  was  a  Madame  de  Raudon,  who  certainly  had  a  matinee 
musicale  at  Wildbad,  accompanied  by  Herr  Spoff,  premier  pianist 
to  the  Hospodar  of  Wallachia,  and  my  little  friend  Mr.  Eaves,  who 
knew  everybody,  and  had  travelled  everywhere,  always  used  to 
declare  that  he  was  at  Strasburg  in  the  year  1830,  when  a  certain 
Madame  Rebecque  made  her  appearance  in  the  opera  of  the  "  Dame 
Blanche,"  giving  occasion  to  a  furious  row  in  the  theatre  there. 
She  was  hissed  off  the  stage  by  the  audience,  partly  from  her  own 
incompetency,  but  chiefly  from  the  ill-advised  sympathy  of  some 
persons  in  the  parquet  (where  the  officers  of  the  garrison  had  their 
admissions) ;  and  Eaves  was  certain  that  the  unfortunate  debutante 
in  question  was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley. 

^he  was,  in  fact,  no  better  than  a  vagabond  upon  this  earth. 
When  she  got  her  money,  she  gambled ;  when  she  had  gambled  it 
she  was  put  to  shifts  to  live ;  who  knows  how  or  by  what  means 
she  succeeded  1  It  is  said  that  she  was  once  seen  at  St.  Petersburg, 
but  was  summarily  dismissed  from  that  capital  by  the  police,  so 
that  there  cannot  be  any  possibility  of  truth  in  the  report  that  she 
was  a  Russian  spy  at  Toplitz  and  Vienna  afterwards.  I  have  even 
been  informed,  that  at  Paris  she  discovered  a  relation  of  her  own, 
no  less  a  person  than  her  maternal  grandmother,  who  was  not  by 
any  means  a  Montmorenci,  but  a  hideous  old  box-opener  at  a  theatre 
on  the  Boulevards.  The  meeting  between  them,  of  which  other 
persons,  as  it  is  hinted  elsewhere,  seem  to  have  been  acquainted, 
must  have  been  a  very  affecting  interview.  The  present  historian 
can  give  no  certain  details  regarding  the  event. 

It  happened  at  Rome  once,  that  Mrs.  de  Rawdon's  half-year's 
salary  had  just  been  paid  into  the  principal  banker's  there,  and,  as 
everybody  who  had  a  balance  of  above  five  hundred  scudi  was 
invited  to  the  balls  which  this  prince  of  merchants  gave  during  the 
winter,  Becky  had  the  honour  of  a  card,  and  appeared  at  one  of  the 
Prince  and  Princess  Polonia's  splendid  evening  entertainments.  The 
21 


6^4  tanity  YAin 

Princess  was  of  the  family  of  Pompili,  lineally  descended  from  the 
second  king  of  Rome,  and  Egeria  of  the  house  of  Olympus,  while  the 
Prince's  grandfather,  Alessandro  Polonia,  sold  wash-balls,  essences, 
tobacco,  and  pocket-handkerchiefs,  ran  errands  for  gentlemen,  and 
lent  money  in  a  small  way.  All  the  great  company  in  Rome 
thronged  to  his  saloons — Princes,  Dukes,  Ambassadors,  artists, 
fiddlers,  monsignori,  young  bears  with  their  leaders — every  rank 
and  condition  of  man.  His  halls  blazed  with  light  and  magnificence ; 
were  resplendent  with  gilt  fi:ames  (containing  pictures),  and  dubious 
antiques;  and  the  enormous  gilt  crown  and  arms  of  the  princely 
owner,  a  gold  mushroom  on  a  crimson  field  (the  colour  of  the  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  which  he  sold)  and  the  silver  fountain  of  the  Pompili 
family  shone  all  over  the  roof,  doors,  and  panels  of  the  house,  and 
over  the  grand  velvet  baldaquins  prepared  to  receive  Popes  and 
Emperors. 

So  Becky,  who  had  arrived  in  the  diligence  from  Florence,  and 
was  lodged  at  an  inn  in  a  very  modest  way,  got  a  card  for  Prince 
Polonia's  entertainment,  and  her  maid  dressed  her  with  unusual 
care,  and  she  went  to  this  fine  ball  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Major 
Loder,  with  whom  she  happened  to  be  travelling  at  the  time — (the 
same  man  who  shot  Prince  Ravoli  at  Naples  the  next  year,  and 
was  caned  by  Sir  John  Buckskin  for  carrying  four  kings  in  his  hat 
besides  those  which  he  used  in  playing  at  ecarU) — and  this  pair 
went  into  the  rooms  together,  and  Becky  saw  a  number  of  old  faces 
which  she  remembered  in  happier  days,  when  she  was  not  innocent, 
but  not  found  out.  Major  Loder  knew  a  great  number  of  foreigners, 
keen-looking  whiskered  men  with  dirty  striped  ribbons  in  their 
button-holes,  and  a  very  small  display  of  linen;  but  his  own 
countrymen,  it  might  be  remarked,  eschewed  the  Major.  Becky, 
too,  knew  some  ladies  here  and  there — French  widows,  dubious 
Italian  countesses,  whose  husbands  had  treated  them  ill — faugh— 
what  shall  we  say,  we  who  have  moved  among  some  of  the  finest 
company  of  Vanity  Fair,  of  this  refuse  and  sediment  of  rascals? 
If  we  play,  let  it  be  with  clean  cards,  and  not  with  this  dirty  pack. 
But  every  man  who  has  formed  one  of  the  innumerable  army  of 
travellers  has  seen  these  marauding  irregulars  hanging  on,  like  Nym 
and  Pistol,  to  the  main  force ;  wearing  the  king's  colours,  and 
boasting  of  his  commission,  but  pillaging  for  themselves,  and 
occasionally  gibbeted  by  the  roadside. 

Well,  she  was  hanging  on  the  arm  of  Major  Loder,  and  they 
went  through  the  rooms  together,  and  drank  a  great  quantity  of 
champagne  at  the  buffet,  where  the  people,  and  especially  the 
Major's  irregular  corps,  struggled  furiously  for  refreshments,  of 
which  when  the  pair  had  had  enough,  they  pushed  on  until  they 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  635 

reached  the  Duchess's  own  pink  velvet  saloon,  at  the  end  of  the 
suite  of  apartments  (where  the  statue  of  the  Venus  is,  and  the  great 
Venice  looking-glasses,  framed  in  silver),  and  where  the  princely 
family  were  entertaining  their  mosf^  distinguished  guests  at  a  round 
table  at  supper.  It  was  just  such  a  little  select  banquet  as  that  of 
which  Becky  recollected  that  she  had  partaken  at  Lord  Steyne's — \ 
and  there  he  sat  at  Polonia's  table,  and  she  sa^P^  him. 

The  scar  cut  by  the  diamond  on  his  white,  bald,  shining  forehead 
made  a  burning  red  mark ;  his  red  whiskers  were  dyed  of  a  purple 
hue,  which  made  his  pale  face  look  still  paler.  He  wore  his  collar 
and  orders,  his  blue  ribbon  and  garter.  He  was  a  greater  prince 
than  any  there,  though  there  was  a  reigning  duke  and  a  royal  high- 
ness, with  their  princesses,  and  near  his  Lordship  was  seated  the 
beautiful  Countess  of  Belladonna,  n6e  de  Glandier,  whose  husband 
(the  Count  Paolo  della  Belladonna),  so  well  known  for  his  brilliant 
entomological  collections,  had  been  long  absent  on  a  mission  to  the 
Emperor  of  Morocco. 

When  Becky  beheld  that  familiar  and  illustrious  face,  how 
vulgar  all  of  a  sudden  did  Major  Loder  appear  to  her,  and  how  that 
odious  Captain  Rook  did  smell  of  tobacco  !  In  one  instant  she 
reassumed  her  fine-ladyship,  and  tried  to  look  and  feel  as  if  she  / 
were  in  May  Fair  once  more.  "  That  woman  looks  stupid  and  ill- 
humoured,"  she  thought;  "I  am  sure  she  can't  amuse  him.  No, 
he  must  be  bored  by  her — he  never  was  by  me."  A  hundred  such 
touching  hopes,  fears,  and  memories  palpitated  in  her  little  heart, 
as  she  looked  with  her  brightest  eyes  (the  rouge  which  she  wore  up 
to  her  eyelids  made  them  twinkle)  towards  the  great  nobleman. 
Of  a  Star  and  Garter  night  Lord  Steyne  used  also  to  put  on  his 
grandest  manner,  and  to  look  and  speak  like  a  great  prince,  as  he 
was.  Becky  admired  him  smiling  sumptuously,  easy,  lofty,  and 
stately.  Ah,  bon  Dieu,  what  a  pleasant  companion  he  was,  what  a 
brilliant  wit,  what  a  rich  fund  of  talk,  what  a  grand  manner  ! — and 
she  had  exchanged  this  for  Major  Loder,  reeking  of  cigars  and 
brandy-and- water,  and  Captain  Rook  with  his  horse-jockey  jokes  and 
prize-ring  slang,  and  their  like.  "  I  wonder  whether  he  will  know 
me,"  she  thought.  Lord  Steyne  was  talking  and  laughing  with  a 
great  and  illustrious  lady  at  his  side,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  \ 
Becky.  ^-^ 

She  was  all  over  in  a  flutter  as  their  eyes  met,  and  she  put  on 
the  very  best  smile  she  could  muster,  and  dropped  him  a  little  ^ 
timid,  imploring  curtsey.  He  stared  aghast  at  her  for  a  minute, 
as  Macbeth  might  en  beholding  Banquo's  sudden  appearance  at  his 
ball-supper;  and  remained  looking  at  her  with  open  mouth,  when 
that  horrid  Major  Loder  pulled  her  away. 


636  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Come  away  into  the  supper-room,  Mrs.  R.,"  was  that  gentle- 
man's remark :  "  seeing  these  nobs  grubbing  away  has  made  me 
peckish  too.  Let's  go  and  try  the  old  governor's  champagne." 
Becky  thought  the  Major  had  had  a  great  deal  too  much  already. 

The  day  after  she  went  to  walk  on  the  Pincian  Hill — the  Hyde 
Park  of  the  Roman  idlers — possibly  in  hopes  to  have  another  sight 
of  Lord  Steyne.  But  she  met  another  acquaintance  there  :  it  was 
Mr.  Fiche,  his  Lordship's  confidential  man,  who  came  up  nodding 
to  her  rather  familiarly,  and  putting  a  finger  to  his  hat.  "  I  knew 
that  Madame  was  here,"  he  said ;  "  I  followed  her  from  her  hotel. 
I  have  some  advice  to  give  Madame." 

"  From  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  1 "  Becky  asked,  resuming  as 
much  of  her  dignity  as  she  could  muster,  and  not  a  little  agitated 
by  hope  and  expectation. 

"  No,"  said  the  valet ;  "  it  is  from  me.  Rome  is  very  unwhole- 
some." 

"  Not  at  this  season,  Monsieur  Fiche — not  till  after  Easter." 

"I  tell  Madame  it  is  unwholesome  now.  There  is  always 
malaria  for  some  people.  That  cursed  marsh  wind  kills  many  at 
all  seasons.  Look  here,  Madame  Crawley,  you  were  always  bon 
enfant,  and  I  have  an  interest  in  you,  parole  d'honneur.  Be 
warned.  Go  away  from  Rome,  I  tell  you — or  you  will  be  ill 
and  die." 

Becky  laughed,  though  in  rage  and  fury.  "  What  !  assassinate 
poor  little  me  1 "  she  said.  "  How  romantic  !  Does  my  lord  carry 
bravos  for  couriers,  and  stilettos  in  the  fourgons  ?  Bah  !  I  will  stay, 
if  but  to  plague  him.  I  have  those  who  will  defend  me  whilst  I 
am  here." 

It  was  Monsieur  Fiche's  turn  to  laugh  now.  "  Defend  you  !  "  he 
said,  "  and  who  1  The  Major,  the  Captain,  any  one  of  those  gambling 
men  whom  Madame  sees,  would  take  her  life  for  a  hundred  louis. 
We  know  things  about  Major  Loder  (he  is  no  more  a  Major  than  I 
am  my  Lord  the  Marquis)  which  would  send  him  to  the  galleys,  or 
worse.  We  know  everything,  and  have  friends  everywhere.  We 
know  whom  you  saw  at  Paris,  and  what  relations  you  found  there. 
Yes,  Madame  may  stare,  but  we  do.  How  was  it  that  no  minister 
on  the  Continent  would  receive  Madame  1  She  has  offended  some- 
body :  who  never  forgives — whose  rage  redoubled  when  he  saw  you. 
He  was  like  a  madman  last  night  when  he  came  home.  Madame 
de  Belladonna  made  him  a  scene  about  you,  and  fired  off  in  one 
of  her  furies." 

"  Oh,  it  was  Madame  de  Belladonna,  was  it  ? "  Becky  said, 
relieved  a  little,  for  the  information  she  had  just  got  had  scared  her. 

"  No — she  does  not  matter — she  is  always  jealous,     I  tell  you 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  637 

it  was  Moiiseigneur.  You  did  wrong  to  show  yourself  to  him.  And 
if  you  stay  here  you  will  repent  it.  Mark  my  words.  Go.  Here 
is  my  lord's  carriage  " — and  seizing  Becky's  arm,  he  rushed  down  an 
alley  of  the  garden  as  Lord  Steyne's  barouche,  blazing  with  heraldic 
devices,  came  whirling  along  the  avenue,  borne  by  the  almost  price- 
less horses,  and  bearing  Madame  de  Belladonna  lolling  on  the  cushions, 
dark,  sulky,  and  blooming,  a  King  Charles  in  her  lap,  a  white  parasol 
swaying  over  her  head,  and  old  Steyne  stretched  at  her  side  with 
a  livid  face  and  ghastly  eyes.  Hate,  or  anger,  or  desire,  caused 
them  to  brighten  now  and  then  still ;  but  ordinarily  they  gave  no 
light,  and  seemed  tired  of  looking  out  on  a  world  of  which  almost  all 
the  pleasure  and  all  the  best  beauty  had  palled  upon  the  worn-out 
wicked  old  man. 

"  Monseigneur  has  never  recovered  the  shock  of  that  night, 
never,"  Monsieur  Fiche  whispered  to  Mrs.  Crawley  as  the  carriage 
flashed  by,  and  she  peeped  out  at  it  from  behind  the  shrubs  that  hid 
her. 

"  That  was  a  consolation  at  any  rate,"  Becky  thought. 

Whether  my  lord  really  had  murderous  intentions  towards  Mrs. 
Becky  hs  Monsieur  Fiche  said — (since  Monseigneur's  death  he  has 
returned  to  his  native  country,  where  he  lives  much  respected,  and 
has  purchased  from  his  Prince  the  title  of  Baron  Ficci), — and  the 
factotum  objected  to  have  to  do  with  assassination ;  or  whether  he 
simply  had  a  commission  to  frighten  Mrs.  Crawley  out  of  a  city 
where  his  Lordship  proposed  to  pass  the  winter,  and  the  sight  of 
her  would  be  eminently  disagreeable  to  the  great  nobleman,  is  a 
point  which  has  never  been  ascertained  :  but  the  threat  had  its  effiect 
upon  the  little  woman,  and  she  sought  no  more  to  intrude  herself 
upon  the  presence  of  her  old  patron. 

Everybody  knows  the  melancholy  end  of  that  nobleman,  which 
befell  at  Naples  two  months  after  the  French  Revolution  of  1830  : 
when  the  Most  Honourable  George  Gustavus,  Marquis  of  Steyne, 
Earl  of  Gaunt  and  of  Gaunt  Castle,  in  the  Peerage  of  Ireland, 
Viscount  Hellborough,  Baron  Pitchley  and  Grillsby,  a  Knight  of 
the  Most  Noble  Order  of  the  Garter,  of  the  Golden  Fleece  of  Spain, 
of  the  Russian  Order  of  Saint  Nicholas  of  the  First  Class,  of  the 
Turkish  Order  of  the  Crescent,  First  Lord  of  the  Powder  Closet 
and  Groom  of  the  Back  Stairs,  Colonel  of  the  Gaunt  or  Regent's 
Own  Regiment  of  Militia,  a  Trustee  of  the  British  Museum,  an 
Elder  Brother  of  the  Trinity  House,  a  Governor  of  the  White 
Friars,  and  D.C.L., — died  after  a  series  of  fits,  brought  on,  as  the 
papers  said,  by  the  shock  occasioned  to  his  Lordship's  sensibilities 
by  the  downfall  of  the  ancient  French  Monarchy. 

An  eloquent  catalogue  appeared  in  a  weekly  print,  describing  hig 


638  VANITY    FAIR 

virtues,  his  magnificence,  his  talents,  and  his  good  actions.  His 
sensibility,  his  attachment  to  the  illustrious  House  of  Bourbon,  with 
which  he  claimed  an  alliance,  were  such  that  he  could  not  survive 
the  misfortunes  of  his  august  kinsmen.  His  body  was  buried  at 
Naples,  and  his  heart — that  heart  which  always  beat  with  every 
generous  and  noble  emotion — was  brought  back  to  Castle  Gaunt 
in  a  silver  urn.  "  In  him,"  Mr.  Wagg  said,  "  the  poor  and  the 
Fine  Arts  have  lost  a  beneficent  patron,  society  one  of  its  most 
brilliant  ornaments,  and  England  one  of  her  loftiest  patriots  and 
statesmen,"  &c.  &c. 

His  will  was  a  good  deal  disputed,  and  an  attempt  was  made  to 
force  from  Madame  de  Belladonna  the  celebrated  jewel  called  the 
"  Jew's-eye  "  diamond,  which  his  Lordship  always  wore  on  his  fore- 
finger, and  which  it  was  said  that  she  removed  from  it  after  his 
lamented  demise.  But  his  confidential  friend  and  attendant.  Mon- 
sieur Fiche,  proved  that  the  ring  had  been  presented  to  the  said 
Madame  de  Belladonna  two  days  before  the  Marquis's  death ;  as 
were  the  bank-notes,  jewels,  Neapolitan  and  French  bonds,  &c., 
found  in  his  Lordship's  secretaire,  and  claimed  by  his  heirs  Irom 
that  injured  woman. 


CHAPTER  LXV 

FULL  OF  BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE 

THE  day  after  the  meeting  at  the  play-table,  Jos  had  himself 
arrayed  with  unusual  care  and  splendour,  and,  without  think- 
ing it  necessary  to  say  a  word  to  any  member  of  his  family 
regarding  the  occurrences  of  the  previous  night,  or  asking  for  their 
company  in  his  walk,  he  sallied  forth  at  an  early  hour,  and  was 
presently  seen  making  inquiries  at  the  door  of  the  Elephant  Hotel. 
In  consequence  of  the  fetes  the  house  was  full  of  company,  the  tables 
in  the  street  were  already  surrounded  by  persons  smoking  and 
drinking  the  national  small-beer,  the  public  rooms  were  in  a  cloud 
of  smoke,  and  Mr.  Jos  having,  in  his  pompous  way,  and  with  his 
clumsy  German,  made  inquiries  for  the  person  of  whom  he  was  in 
search,  was  directed  to  the  very  top  of  the  house,  above  the  first- 
floor  rooms  where  some  travelling  pedlars  had  lived,  and  were 
exhibiting  their  jewellery  and  brocades;  above  the  second-floor 
apartments  occupied  by  the  ^tat  major  of  the  gambling  firm  ;  above 
the  third-floor  rooms  tenanted  by  the  band  of  renowned  Bohemian 
vaulters  and  tumblers ;  and  so  on  to  the  little  cabins  of  the  roof, 
where,  among  students,  bagmen,  small  tradesmen,  and  coimtry-folk, 
come  in  for  the  festival,  Becky  had  found  a  little  nest — as  dirty  a 
hUle^refuge  aa  ever  beauty  lay  hid  in. 

CjBecky  liked  the  life.  She  was  at  home  with  everybody  in  the 
placePpedlars,  punters,  tumblers,  students  and  all.  She  was  of  a 
wild,  rovmg  nature,  inlierited  from  father  and  mother,  who  were 
BsttrBohemians,  by  taste  and  circumstance ;  if  a  lord  was  not  by, 
she  would  talk  to  his  courier  with  the  greatest  pleasure ;  the  din, 
the  stir,  the  drink,  the  smoke,  the  tattle  of  the  Hebrew  pedlars, 
the  solemn,  braggart  ways  of  the  poor  tumblers,  the  sov/rnois  talk 
of  the  gambling-table  officials,  the  songs  and  swagger  of  the  students, 
and  the  general  buzz  and  hum  of  the  place  had  pleased  and  tiokled 
the  little  woman,  even  when  her  luck  was  down,  and  she  had  not 
wherewithal  to  pay  her  bill.  How  pleasant  was  all  the  bustle  to 
her  now  that  her  purse  was  full  of  the  money  which  little  Georgy 
had  won  for  her  the  night  before ! 

As  Jos  came  creaking  and  puffing  up  the  final  stairs,  and  was 


X. 


640  VANITY    FAIH 

speechless  when  he  got  to  the  landing,  and  began  to  wipe  his  face 
and  then  to  look  for  No.  92,  the  room  where  he  was  directed  to 
seek  for  the  person  he  wanted,  the  door  of  the  opposite  chamber, 
No.  90,  was  open,  and  a  student,  in  jack-boots  and  a  dirty 
schlafrock,  was  lying  on  the  bed  smoking  a  long  pipe ;  whilst 
another  student  in  long  yellow  hair  and  a  braided  coat,  exceeding 
smart  and  dirty  too,  was  actually  on  his  knees  at  No.  92,  bawling 
through  the  keyhole  supplications  to  the  person  within. 

"  Go  away,"  said  a  well-known  voice,  which  made  Jos  thrill, 
"I  expect  somebody;  I  expect  my  grandpapa.  He  mustn't  see 
you  there." 

"  Angel  Englanderinn ! "  bellowed  the  kneeling  student  with 
the  whity- brown  ringlets  and  the  large  finger-ring,  "  do  take 
compassion  upon  us.  Make  an  appointment.  Dine  with  me  and 
Fritz  at  the  inn  in  the  park.  We  will  have  roast  pheasants  and 
porter,  plum-pudding  and  French  wine.     We  shall  die  if  you  don't." 

"That  we  will,"  said  the  young  nobleman  on  the  bed;  and 
this  colloquy  Jos  overheard,  though  he  did  not  comprehend  it,  for 
the  reason  that  he  had  never  studied  the  language  in  which  it  was 
carried  on. 

^^ Newmero  kattervang  dooze,  si  vous  plait"  Jos  said  in  his 
grandest  manner,  when  he  was  able  to  speak. 

"  Quater  fang  tooce ! "  said  the  student,  starting  up,  and  he 
bounced  into  his  own  room,  where  he  locked  the  door,  and  where 
Jos  heard  him  laughing  with  his  comrade  on  the  bed. 

The  gentleman  from  Bengal  was  standing  disconcerted  by  this 
incident,  when  the  door  of  the  92  opened  of  itself,  and  Becky's 
little  head  peeped  out  full  of  archness  and  mischief.  She  lighted 
on  Jos.  "  It's  you,"  she  said,  coming  out.  "  How  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you !  Stop  !  not  yet — in  one  minute  you  shall  come 
in."  In  that  instant  she  put  a  rouge-pot,  a  brandy-bottle,  and  a 
plate  of  broken  meat  into  the  bed,  gave  one  smooth  to  her  hair,  and 
finally  let  in  her  visitor. 

She  had,  by  way  of  morning  robe,  a  pink  domino,  a  trifle  faded 
and  soiled,  and  marked  here  and  there  with  pomatum;  but  her 
arms  shone  out  fi-om  the  loose  sleeves  of  the  dress  very  white  and 
fair,  and  it  was  tied  round  her  little  waist,  so  as  not  ill  to  set  ofi' 
the  trim  little  figure  of  the  wearer.  She  led  Jos  by  the  hand  into 
her  garret.  "  Come  in,"  she  said.  "  Come,  and  talk  to  me.  Sit 
yonder  on  the  chair;"  and  she  gave  the  civilian's  hand  a  little 
squeeze,  and  laughingly  placed  him  upon  it.  As  for  herself,  she 
placed  herself  on  the  bed — not  on  the  bottle  and  plate,  you  may  be 
sure — on  which  Jos  might  have  reposed,  had  he  chosen  that  seat; 
and  so  there  she  sate  and  talked  with  her  old  admirer. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  641 

"  How  little  years  have  changed  you  ! "  she  said,  with  a  look  of 
tender  interest.  "I  should  have  known  you  anywhere.  What  a 
comfort  it  is  amongst  strangers  to  see  once  more  th«  frank  honest 
face  of  an  old  friend  !  "  . 

The  fiunk  honest  face,  to  tell  the  truth,  at  this  moment  bore 
any  expression  but  one  of  openness  and  honesty :  it  was,  on  the 
contrary,  much  perturbed  and  puzzled  in  look.  Jos  was  surveying 
the  queer  little  apartment  in  which  he  found  his  old  flame.  One 
of  her  gowns  hung  over  the  bed,  another  depending  from  a  hook  of 
the  door :  her  bonnet  obscured  half  the  looking-glass,  on  which,  too, 
lay  the  prettiest  little  pair  of  bronze  boots ;  a  French  novel  was  on 
the  table  by  the  bedside,  with  a  candle,  not  of  wax.  Becky  thought 
of  popping  that  into  the  bed  too,  but  she  only  put  in  the  little  paper 
nightcap  with  which  she  had  put  the  candle  out  on  going  to  sleep. 

"I  should  have  known  you  anywhere,"  she  continued;  "a 
woman  never  forgets  some  things.  And  you  were  the  first  man 
I  ever — I  ever  saw." 

"Was  I,  really?"  said  Jos.  "God  bless  my  soul,  you — you 
don't  say  so." 

"  When  I  came  with  your  sister  from  Chiswick,  I  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  child,"  Becky  said.  "  How  is  that  dear  love  %  Oh, 
her  husband  was  a  sad  wicked  man,  and  of  course  it  was  of  me  that 
the  poor  dear  was  jealous.  As  if  I  cared  about  him,  heigho  !  when 
there  was  somebody — but  no — don't  let  us  talk  of  old  times;" 
and  she  passed  her  handkerchief  with  the  tattered  lace  across  her 
eyelids. 

"Is  not  this  a  strange  place,"  she  continued,  "for  a  woman, 
who  has  lived  in  a  very  different  world  too,  to  be  found  in?  I 
have  had  so  many  griefe  and  wrongs,  Joseph  Sedley,  I  have  been 
made  to  suffer  so  cruelly,  that  I  am  almost  made  mad  sometimes. 
I  can't  stay  still  in  any  place,  but  wander  about  always  restless 
and  unhappy.  All  my  friends  have  been  false  to  me — all.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  an  honest  man  in  the  world.  I  was  the  truest 
wife  that  ever  lived,  though  I  married  my  husband  out  of  pique, 
because  somebody  else — but  never  mind  that.  I  was  true,  and  he 
trampled  upon  me,  and  deserted  me.  I  was  the  fondest  mother. 
I  had  but  one  child,  one  darling,  one  hope,  one  joy,  which  I  held  to 
my  heart  with  a  mother's  affection,  which  was  my  life,  my  prayer, 
my — my  blessing ;  and  they — they  tore  it  from  me — tore  it  from 
me ; "  and  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart  with  a  passionate  gesture 
of  despair,  burying  her  face  for  a  moment  on  the  bed. 

The  brandy-bottle  inside  clinked  up  against  the  plate  which 
held  the  cold  sausage.  Both  were  moved,  no  doubt,  by  the  exhibi- 
tion of  so  much  grief     Max  and  Fritz  were  at  the  door  listening 


/ 


642  VANITY    FAIR 

with  wonder  to  Mrs.  Becky's  sobs  and  cries.  Jos,  too,  was  a  good 
deal  frightened  and  affected  at  seeing  his  old  flame  in  this  condition. 
And  she  began,  forthwith,  to  tell  her  story — a  tale  so  neat,  simple, 
and  artless,  that  it  was  quite  evident  from  hearing  her,  that  if  ever 
there  was  a  white-robed  angel  escaped  from  heaven  to  be  subject  to 
the  infernal  machinations  and  villainy  of  fiends  here  below,  that  spot- 
less being — that  miserable  unsullied  martyr,  was  present  on  the  bed 
before  Jos — on  the  bed,  sitting  on  the  brandy-bottle. 

They  had  a  very  long,  amicable,  and  confidential  talk  there ;  in 
the  course  of  which,  Jos  Sedley  was  somehow  made  aware  (but  in 
a  manner  that  did  not  in  the  least  scare  or  offend  him)  that  Becky's 
heart  had  first  learned  to  beat  at  his  enchanting  presence :  that 
George  Osborne  had  certainly  paid  an  unjustifiable  court  to  her, 
which  might  account  for  Amelia's  jealousy,  and  their  little  rupture ; 
but  that  Becky  never  gave  the  least  encouragement  to  the  unfor- 
tunate officer,  and  that  she  had  never  ceased  to  think  about  Jos 
from  the  very  first  day  she  had  seen  him,  though,  of  course,  her 
duties  as  a  married  woman  were  paramount — duties  which  she  had 
always  preserved,  and  would,  to  her  dying  day,  or  until  the  pro- 
verbially bad  climate  in  which  Colonel  Crawley  was  living  should 
release  her  from  a  yoke  which  his  cruelty  had  rendered  odious  to  her. 

Jos  went  away,  convinced  that  she  was  the  most  virtuous,  as 
she  was  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  women,  and  revolving  in  his 
mind  all  sorts  of  benevolent  schemes  for  her  welfare.  Her  persecu- 
tions ought  to  be  ended  :  she  ought  to  return  to  the  society  of  which 
she  was  an  ornament.  He  would  see  what  ought  to  be  done.  She 
must  quit  that  place,  and  take  a  quiet  lodging.  Amelia  must  come 
and  see  her,  and  befriend  her.  He  would  go  and  settle  about  it,  and 
consult  with  the  Major.  She  wept  tears  of  heartfelt  gratitude  as 
she  parted  from  him,  and  pressed  his  hand  as  the  gallant  stout 
gentleman  stooped  down  to  kiss  hers. 

So  Becky  bowed  Jos  out  of  her  little  garret  with  as  much  grace 
as  if  it  was  a  palace  of  which  she  did  the  honours ;  and  that  heavy 
gentleman  having  disappeared  down  the  stairs,  Max  and  Fritz  came 
out  of  their  hole,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  she  amused  herself  by  mimick- 
ing Jos  to  them  as  she  munched  her  bread  and  cold  sausage  and 
took  draughts  of  her  favourite  brandy-and-water. 

Jos  walked  over  to  Dobbin's  lodgings  with  great  solemnity,  and 
there  imparted  to  him  the  affecting  history  with  which  he  had  just 
been  made  acquainted,  without,  however,  mentioning  the  play-busi- 
ness of  the  night  before.  And  the  two  gentlemen  were  laying  their 
heads  together,  and  consulting  as  to  the  best  means  of  being  useful 
to  Mrs.  Becky,  while  she  was  finishing  her  interrupted  dijeuner  a 
la  fourchette. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  643 

How  was  it  that  she  had  come  to  that  little  town  1  How  was 
it  that  she  had  no  friends  and  was  wandering  about  alone  1  Little 
boys  at  school  are  taught  in  their  earliest  Latin  book,  that  the  path 
of  Avernus  is  very  easy  of  descent^  Let  us  skip  over  the  interval 
in  the  history  of  her  downward  progress.  She  was  not  worse  now 
than  she  had  been  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity — only  a  little  down 
on  her  luck. 

As  for  Mrs.  Amelia,  she  was  a  woman  of  such  a  soft  and  foolish 
disposition,  that  when  she  heard  of  anybody  unhappy,  her  heart 
straightway  melted  towards  the  sufferer;  and  as  she  had  never 
thought  or  done  anything  mortally  guilty  herself,  she  had  not  that 
abhorrence  for  wickedness  which  distinguishes  moralists  much  more 
knowing.  If  she  spoiled  everybody  who  came  near  her  with  kind- 
ness and  compliments, — if  she  begged  pardon  of  all  her  servants  for 
troubling  them  to  answer  the  bell, — if  she  apologised  to  a  shop-boy 
who  showed  her  a  piece  of  silk,  or  made  a  curtsey  to  a  street-sweeper 
with  a  complimentary  remark  upon  the  elegant  state  of  his  crossing 
— and  she  was  almost  capable  of  every  one  of  these  follies— the 
notion  that  an  old  acquaintance  was  miserable  was  sure  to  soften 
her  heart ;  nor  would  she  hear  of  anybody's  being  deservedly  un- 
happy. A  world  under  such  legislation  as  hers  would  not  be  a  very 
orderly  place  of  abode ;  but  there  are  not  many  women,  at  least  not 
of  the  rulers,  who  are  of  her  sort.  This  lady,  I  believe,  would  have 
abolished  all  gaols,  punishments,  handcuffs,  whippings,  poverty, 
sickness,  hunger,  in  the  world;  and  was  such  a  mean-spirited 
creature,  that — we  are  obliged  to  confess  it — she  could  even  forget 
a  mortal  injury. 

When  the  Major  heard  from  Jos  of  the  sentimental  adventure 
which  had  just  befallen  the  latter,  he  was  not,  it  must  be  owned, 
nearly  as  much  interested  as  the  gentleman  from  Bengal.  On  the 
contrary,  his  excitement  was  quite  the  reverse  from  a  pleasurable 
one ;  he  made  use  of  a  brief  but  improper  expression  regarding  a 
poor  woman  in  distress,  saying,  in  fact, — "  the  little  minx,  has  she 
come  to  light  again  1 "  He  never  had  had  the  slightest  liking  for 
her;  but  had  heartily  mistrusted  her  from  the  very  first  moment 
when  her  green  eyes  had  looked  at,  and  turned  away  from,  his  own. 

"  That  little  devil  brings  mischief  wherever  she  goes,"  the  Major 
said  disrespectfully.  "  Who  knows  what  sort  of  a  life  she  has  been 
leading  ?  and  what  business  has  she  here  abroad  and  alone  1  Don't 
tell  me  about  persecutors  and  enemies ;  an  honest  woman  always 
has  friends,  and  never  is  separated  from  her  family.  Why  has  she 
left  her  husband  1  He  may  have  been  disreputable  and  wicked,  ae 
you  say.  He  always  was.  I  remember  the  confounded  blackleg, 
and  the  way  in  which  he  used  to  cheat  and  hoodwink  poor  George. 


/ 


644  VANITY    FAIR 

Wasn't  there  a  scandal  about  their  separation  1  I  think  I  heard 
something,"  cried  out  Major  Dobbin,  who  did  not  care  much  about 
gossip;  and  whom  Jos  tried  in  vain  to  convince  that  Mrs.  Becky 
was  in  all  respects  a  most  injured  and  virtuous  female. 

"Well,  well;  let's  ask  Mrs.  George,"  said  that  arch-diplomatist 
of  a  Major.  "  Only  let  us  go  and  consult  her.  I  suppose  you  will 
allow  that  she  is  a  good  judge  at  any  rate,  and  knows  what  is  right 
in  such  matters." 

"  Hm !  Emmy  is  very  well,"  said  Jos,  who  did  not  happen  to 
be  in  love  with  his  sister. 

"  Very  well  %  by  Gad,  sir,  she's  the  finest  lady  I  ever  met  in 
my  life,"  bounced  out  the  Major.  "  I  say  at  once,  let  us  go  and 
ask  her  if  this  woman  ought  to  be  visited  or  not — I  will  be  content 
with  her  verdict."  Now  this  odious,  artful  rogue  of  a  Major  was 
thinking  in  his  own  mind  that  he  was  sure  of  his  case.  Emmy,  he 
remembered,  was  at  one  time  cruelly  and  deservedly  jealous  of 
Rebecca,  never  mentioned  her  name  but  with  a  shrinking  and  terror 
— a  jealous  woman  never  forgives,  thought  Dobbin  :  and  so  the  pair 
went  across'  the  street  to  Mrs.  George's  house,  where  she  was  con- 
tentedly warbling  at  a  music-lesson  with  Madame  Strumpff. 

When  that  lady  took  her  leave,  Jos  opened  the  business  with 
his  usual  pomp  of  words.  "  Amelia,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  I  have 
just  had  the  most  extraordinary — yes — God  bless  my  soul !  the 
most  extraordinary  adventure — an  old  friend — yes,  a  most  interest- 
ing old  friend  of  yours,  and  I  may  say  in  old  times,  has  just  arrived 
here,  and  I  should  like  you  to  see  her." 

"  Her  !  "  said  Amelia.  "  Who  is  it  %  Major  Dobbin,  if  you 
please  not  to  break  my  scissors."  The  Major  was  twirling  them 
round  by  the  little  chain  from  which  they  sometimes  hung  to  their 
lady's  waist,  and  was  thereby  endangering  his  own  eye. 

"It  is  a  woman  whom  I  dislike  very  much,"  said  the  Major 
doggedly;  "and  whom  you  have  no  cause  to  love." 

"  It  is  Rebecca ;  I'm  sure  it  is  Rebecca,"  Amelia  said,  blushing, 
and  being  very  much  agitated. 

"  You  are  right ;  you  always  are,"  Dobbin  answered.  Brussels, 
Waterloo,  old,  old  times,  griefs,  pangs,  remembrances,  rushed  back 
into  Amelia's  gentle  heart,  and  caused  a  cruel  agitation  there. 

"Don't  let  me  see  her,"  Emmy  continued.  "I  couldn't 
see  her." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  Dobbin  said  to  Jos. 

"  She  is  very  unhappy,  and — and  that  sort  of  thing,"  Jos  urged. 
"  She  is  very  poor  and  unprotected  :  and  has  been  ill — exceedingly 
ill — and  that  scoundrel  of  a  husband  has  deserted  her." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Amelia. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  645 

"  She  hasn't  a  friend  in  the  worid,"  Jos  went  on,  not  undex- 
terously ;  "  and  she  said  she  thought  she  might  trust  in  you.  She's 
so  miserable,  Emmy.  She  has  been  almost  mad  with  grief.  Her 
story  quite  affected  me  : — 'pon  my  word  and  honour,  it  did — never 
was  such  a  cniel  persecution  borife  so  angelically,  I  may  say.  Her 
family  has  been  most  cniel  to  her." 

"  Poor  creature  !  "  Amelia  said. 

"  And  if  she  can  get  no  friend,  she  says  she  thinks  she'll  die," 
Jos  proceeded,  in  a  low  tremulous  voice. — "  God  bless  my  soul !  do 
you  know  that  she  tried  to  kill  herself?  She  carries  laudanum  with 
her — I  saw  the  bottle  in  her  room — such  a  miserable  little  room — 
at  a  third-rate  house,  the  Elephant,  up  in  the  roof  at  the  top  of  all. 
I  went  there." 

This  did  not  seem  to  affect  Emmy.  She  even  smiled  a  little. 
Perhaps  she  figured  Jos  to  herself  panting  up  the  stair. 

'^'Sire^s  beside^lierself  with  grief,"  he  resumed.  "The  agonies 
that  woman  has  endured  are  quite  frightful  to  hear  of  She  had  a 
little  boy,  of  the  same  age  as  Georgy." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  think  I  remember,"  Emmy  remarked.     "  Well  *? " 

"  The  most  beautiful  child  ever  seen,"  Jos  said,  who  was  very 
fat,  and  easily  moved,  and  had  been  touched  by  the  story  Becky 
told ;  "  a  perfect  angel,  who  adored  his  mother.     The  ruffiana_torg.\ 
him  shrieking  out  of  her  arms,  and  have  never  allowed  him  toy 
s^e~Trei\*'      ~- ■ 

"Dear  Joseph,"  Emmy  cried  out,  starting  up  at  once,  "let  us  ^ 
go.  and  see  her  this  minute."     And  she  ran  into  her  adjoining  bed- 
chamber, tied  on  her  bonnet  in  a  flutter,  came  out  with  her  shawl 
on  her  arm,  and  ordered  Dobbin  to  follow. 

He  went  and  put  her  shawl — it  was  a  white  Cashmere,  consigned 
to  her  by  the  Major  himself  from  India — over  her  shoulders.  He 
saw  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey ;  and  she  put  her  hand 
into  his  arm,  and  they  went  away. 

"  It  is  No.  92,  up  four  pair  of  stairs,"  Jos  said,  perhaps 
not  very  willing  to  ascend  the  steps  again ;  but  he  placed  himself 
in  the  window  of  his  drawing-room,  which  commands  the  place  on 
which  the  Elephant  stands,  and  saw  the  pair  marching  through  the 
market. 

It  was  as  well  that  Becky  saw  them  too  from  her  garret ;  for 
she  and  the  two  students  were  chattenng  and  laughing  there ;  they 
had  been  joking  about  the  appearance  of  Becky's  grandpapa — whose 
arrival  and  departure  they  had  witnessed — but  she  had  tiflae  to 
dismiss  them,  and  have  her  Jittle  room  clear  before  the  landlord  of 
the  Elephant,  who  knew  that  Mrs.  Osborne  was  a  great  favourite  at 
the  Serene  Court,  and  respected  her  accordingly,  led  the  way  up  the 


646  VANITY    FAIR 

stairs  to  the  roof-storey,  encouraging  Miladi  and  the  Herr  Major  as 
they  achieved  the  ascent. 

"  Gracious  lady,  gracious  lady  ! "  said  the  landlord,  knocking  at 
Becky's  door ;  he  had  called  her  Madame  the  day  before,  and  was 
by  no  means  courteous  to  her. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  Becky  said,  putting  out  her  head,  and  she  gave  a 
little  scream.  There  stood  Emmy  in  a  tremble,  and  Dobbin,  the 
tall  Major,  with  his  cane. 

He  stood  still  watching,  and  very  much  interested  at  the  scene ; 

but  Emmy  sprang  forward  with  open  arms  towards  Rebecca,  and 

j       forgave  her  at  that  moment,  and  embraced  her  and  kissed  her  with 

■^       all  her  heart.     Ah,  poor  wretch,  when  was  your  lip  pressed  before 

by  such  pure  kisses  1 


CHAPTER    LXVI 

AMANTIUM  IR£ 

FRANKNESS  and  kindness  like  Amelia's  were  likely  to  touch  / 
even  such  a  hardened  little  reprobate  as  Becky.    She  returned  I  / 
Emmy's  caresses  and  kind  speeches  with  something  very  like! 
gratitude,  and  an  emotion  which,  if  it  was  not  lasting,  for  a  moment 
was._almost  genuine.     That  was  a  lucky  stroke  of  hers  about  the 
chiM-"torn  from  her  arms  shrieking."     It  was  by  that  harrowing 
misfortune  that  Becky  had  won  her  friend  back,  and  it  was  one  of 
the  very  first  points,  we  may  be  certain,  upon  which  our  poor  simple 
little  Emmy  began  to  talk  to  her  new-found  acquaintance.  — ^-^         , 

"  And  so  they  took  your  darling  child  from  you  1 "  our  i^mpletoiir^  ^aa^^Lo 
cried  out.     "  Oh,  Rebecca,  my  poor  dear  suffering  friend,  I  know 
what  it  is  to  lose  a  boy,  and  to  feel  for  those  who  have  lost  one. 
But  please  Heaven  yours  will  be  restored  to  you,  as  a  merciful 
merciful  Providence  has  brought  me  back  mine." 

"The  child,  my  child  1  Oh  yes,  my  agonies  were  frightftil," 
Becky  owned,  not  perhaps  without  a  twinge  of  conscience.  It 
jarred  upon  her,  to  be  obliged  to  commence  instantly  to  tell  lies  in 
reply  to  so  much  confidence  and  simplicity.  But  that  is  the 
misfortune  of  beginning  with  this  kind  of  forgery.  When  one  fib  / 
becomes  due  as  it  were,  you  must  forge  another  to  take  up  the  old  / 
acceptance ;  and  so  the  stock  of  your  lies  in  circulation  inevitably 
multiplies,  and  the  danger  of  detection  increases  every  day. 

"My  agonies,"  Becky  continued,  "were  terrible  (I  hope  she 
won't  sit  down  on  the  bottle)  when  they  took  him  away  from  me ; 
I  thought  I  should  die ;  but  I  fortunately  had  a  brain  fever,  during 
which  my  doctor  gave  me  up,  and — and  I  recovered,  and — and  here 
I  am,  poor  and  friendless." 

"  How  old  is  he  % "  Emmy  asked. 

"  Eleven,"  said  Becky. 

"  Eleven ! "  cried  the  other.  "  Why,  he  was  bom  the  same 
year  with  Georgy,  who  is " 

"I  know,  I  know,"  Becky  cried  out,  who  had  in  fact  quite 
forgotten  all  about  little  Rawdon's  age.  "  Grief  has  made  me 
forget  so  many  things,  dearest  Amelia.     I  am  very  much  changed ; 


648  VANITY    FAIR 

half  wild  sometimes.     He  was  eleven  when  they  took  him  away 
from  me.     Bless  his  sweet  face ;  I  have  never  seen  it  again." 

"Was  he  fair  or  dark?"  went  on  that  absurd  little  Emmy. 
"Show  me  his  hair." 

Becky  almost  laughed  at  her  simplicity.  "  Not  to-day,  love, — 
some  other  time,  when  my  trunks  arrive  from  Leipsic,  whence  I 
came  to  this  place, — and  a  little  drawing  of  him,  which  I  made  in 
happy  days. 

"  Poor  Becky,  poor  Becky  ! "  said  Emmy.  "  How  thankful, 
how  thankful  I  ought  to  be"  (though  I  doubt  whether  that 
practice  of  piety  inculcated  upon  us  by  our  womankind  in  early 
youth,  namely,  to  be  thankful  because  we  are  better  off  than  some- 
body else,  be  a  very  rational  rehgious  exercise) ;  and  then  she 
began  to  think  as  usual,  how  her  son  was  the  handsomest,  the 
best,  and  the  cleverest  boy  in  the  whole  world. 

"You  will  see  my  Georgy,"  was  the  best  thing  Emmy  could 
think  of  to  console  Becky.  If  anything  could  make  her  comfortable, 
that  would. 

And  so  the  two  women  continued  talking  for  an  hour  or  more, 
during  which  Becky  had  the  opportunity  of  giving  her  new  friend  a 
full  and  complete  version  of  her  private  history.  She  showed  how 
her  marriage  with  Rawdon  Crawley  had  always  been  viewed  by  the 
family  with  feelings  of  the  utmost  hostility ;  how  her  sister-in-law 
(an  artful  woman)  had  poisoned  her  husband's  mind  against  her ; 
how  he  had  formed  odious  connections,  which  had  estranged  his 
affections  from  her :  how  she  had  borne  everything  —  poverty, 
neglect,  coldness  from  the  being  whom  she  most  loved — and  all  for 
the  sake  of  her  child ;  how,  finally,  and  by  the  most  flagrant  outrage, 
she  had  been  driven  into  demanding  a  separation  from  her  husband, 
when  the  wretch  did  not  scruple  to  ask  that  she  should  sacrifice* 
her  own  fair  fame  so  that  he  might  procure  advancement  through 
the  means  of  a  very  great  and  powerful  but  imprincipled  man — the 
Marquis  of  Steyne,  indeed.     The  atrocious  monster. 

This  part  of  her  eventful  history  Becky  gave  with  the  utmost 
feminine  delicacy,  and  the  most  indignant  virtue.  Forced  to  fly 
her  husband's  roof  by  this  insult,  the  coward  had  pursued  his 
revenge  by  taking  her  child  from  her.  And  thus  Becky  said  she 
was  a  wanderer,  poor,  unprotected,  friendless,  and  wretched. 

Emmy  received  this  story,  which  was  told  at  some  length,  as 
those  persons  who  are  acquainted  with  her  character  may  imagine 
that  she  would.  She  quivered  with  indignation  at  the  account  of 
the  conduct  of  the  miserable  Rawdon  and  the  unprincipled  Steyne. 
Her  eyes  made  notes  of  admiration  for  every  one  of  the  sentences  in 
which  Becky  described  the  persecutions  of  her  aristocratic  relatives, 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  649 

and  the  falling  away  of  her  husband.  (Becky  did  not  abuse  him. 
She  spoke  rather  in  sorrow  than  in  anger.  She  had  loved  him 
only  too  fondly  :  and  was  he  not  the  father  of  her  boy  ?)  And  as 
for  the  separation-scene  from  the  child,  while  Becky  was  reciting  it, 
Emmy  retired  altogether  behina  her  pocket-handkerchief,  so  that 
the  consummate  little  tragedian  must  have  been  charmed  to  see  the 
effect  which  her  performance  produced  on  her  audience. 

Whilst  the  ladies  were  carrying  on  their  conversation,  Amelia's 
constant  escort,  the  Major  (who,  of  course,  did  not  wish  to  interrupt 
their  conference,  and  found  himself  rather  tired  of  creaking  about 
the  narrow  stair  passage  of  which  the  roof  brushed  the  nap  from 
his  hat)  descended  to  the  ground-floor  of  the  house  and  into  the 
great  room  common  to  all  the  frequenters  of  the  Elephant,  out  of 
which  the  stair  led.  This  apartment  is  always  in  a  fume  of  smoke, 
and  liberally  sprinkled  with  beer.  On  a  dirty  table  stand  scores  of 
corresponding  brass-candlesticks  with  tallow  candles  for  the  lodgers, 
whose  keys  hang  up  in  rows  over  the  candles.  Emmy  had  passed 
blushing  through  the  room  anon,  where  all  sorts  of  people  were 
collected  :  Tyrolese  glove-sellers  and  Danubian  linen-merchants,  with 
their  packs;  students  recruiting  themselves  with  butterbrods  and 
meats ;  idlers,  playing  cards  or  dominoes  on  the  sloppy,  beery  tables ; 
tumblers  refreshing  during  the  cessation  of  their  performances — in  a 
word,  all  the  fumum  and  strepitus  of  a  German  inn  in  fair-time.  The 
waiter  brought  the  Major  a  mug  of  beer,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and 
he  took  out  a  cigar,  and  amused  himself  with  that  pernicious  vegetable 
and  a  newspaper  until  his  charge  should  come  down  to  claim  him. 

Max  and  Fritz  came  presently  downstairs,  their  caps  on  one 
side,  their  spurs  jingling,  their  pipes  splendid  with  coats-of-arms  and 
full-blown  tassels,  and  they  hung  up  the  key  of  No.  90  on  the 
board,  and  called  for  the  ration  of  butterbrod  and  beer.  The  pair 
sate  down  by  the  Major,  and  fell  into  a  conversation  of  which  he 
could  not  help  hearing  somewhat.  It  was  mainly  about  "  Fuchs  " 
and  "  Philister,"  and  duels  and  drinking-bouts  at  the  neighbouring 
University  of  Schoppenhausen,  from  which  renowned  seat  of  learning 
they  had  just  come  in  the  Eilwagen,  with  Becky,  as  it  appeared,  by 
their  side,  and  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  bridal  fStes  at  Pumper- 
nickel. 

"  The  little  Englanderinn  seems  to  be  en  bays  de  gonnoisance" 
said  Max,  who  knew  the  French  language,  to  Fritz,  his  comrade. 
"  After  the  fat  grandfather  went  away,  there  came  a  pretty  little 
compatriot.  I  heard  them  chattering  and  whimpering  together  in 
the  little  woman's  chamber." 

"  We  must  take  the  tickets  for  her  concert,"  Fritz  said.     "  Haat 
thou  any  money.  Max  ? " 
22 


650  VANITY    FAIR 

"Bah,"  said  the  other,  "the  concert  is  a  concert  in  nuhtbus. 
Hans  said  that  she  advertised  one  at  Leipsic  :  and  the  Burschen 
took  many  tickets.  But  she  went  off  without  singing.  She  said 
in  the  coach  yesterday  that  her  pianist  had  fallen  ill  at  Dresden. 
She  cannot  sing,  it  is  my  belief :  her  voice  is  as  cracked  as  thine,  0 
thou  beer-soaking  Renowner  !  " 

"It  is  cracked;  /  hear  her  trying  out  of  her  window  a  schrecklich 
English  ballad,  called  '  De  Rose  upon  de  Balgony.' " 

"  Saufen  and  singen  go  not  together,"  observed  Fritz  with  the 
red  nose,  who  evidently  preferred  the  former  amusement.  "  No, 
thou  shalt  take  none  of  her  tickets.  She  won  money  at  the  trente 
and  quarante  last  night.  I  saw  her  :  she  made  a  little  English  boy 
play  for  her.  We  will  spend  thy  money  there  or  at  the  theatre,  or 
we  will  treat  her  to  French  wine  or  cognac  in  the  Aurelius  Garden, 
but  the  tickets  we  will  not  buy.  What  sayest  thou  1  Yet  another 
mug  of  beer  1 "  and  one  and  another  successively  having  buried  their 
blond  whiskers  in  the  mawkish  draught,  curled  them  and  swaggered 
off  into  the  fair. 

The  Major,  who  had  seen  the  key  of  No.  90  put  up  on  its  hook, 
and  had  heard  the  conversation  of  the  two  young  University  bloods, 
was  not  at  a  loss  to  understand  that  their  talk  related  to  Becky. 
"  The  little  devil  is  at  her  old  tricks,"  he  thought,  and  he  smiled  as 
he  recalled  old  days,  when  he  had  witnessed  the  desperate  flirtation 
with  Jos,  and  the  ludicrous  end  of  that  adventure.  He  and  George 
had  often  laughed  over  it  subsequently,  and  until  a  few  weeks  after 
George's  marriage,  when  he  also  was  caught  in  the  little  Circe's  toils, 
and  had  an  understanding  with  her  which  his  comrade  certainly 
suspected,  but  preferred  to  ignore.  William  was  too  much  hurt  or 
ashamed  to  ask  to  fathom  that  disgraceful  mystery,  although  once,  and 
\  /  evidently  with  remorse  on  his  mind,  George  had  alluded  to  it.  It 
j  Y  was  on  the  morning  of  Waterloo,  as  the  young  men  stood  together 
^  in  front  of  their  line,  surveying  the  black  masses  of  Frenchmen  who 
crowned  the  opposite  heights,  and  as  the  rain  was  coming  down, 
"  I  have  been  mixing  in  a  foolish  intrigue  with  a  woman,"  George 
said.  "I  am  glad  we  were  marched  away.  If  I  drop,  I  hope 
Emmy  will  never  know  of  that  business.  I  wish  to  God  it  had 
never  been  begun  ! "  And  William  was  pleased  to  think,  and  had 
more  than  once  soothed  poor  George's  widow  with  the  narrative, 
that  Osborne,  after  quitting  his  wife,  and  after  the  action  of  Quatre 
Bras,  on  the  first  day,  spoke  gravely  and  affectionately  to  his  com- 
rade of  his  father  and  his  wife.  On  these  facts,  too,  William  had 
insisted  very  strongly  in  his  conversations  with  the  elder  Osborne  : 
and  had  thus  been  the  means  of  reconciling  the  old  gentleman 
to  his  son's  memory,  just  at  the  close  of  the  elder  man's  life. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  651 

"  Ai2d  80  this  devil  is  still  going  on  with  her  intrigues,"  thought 
William.  "I  wish  she  were  a  hundred  miles  from  here.  She 
brings  mischief  wherever  she  goes."  And  he  was  pursuing  these 
forebodings  and  this  uncomfortable'  train  of  thought,  with  his  head 
between  his  hands,  and  the  Pumpernickel  Gazette  of  last  week 
unread  under  his  nose,  when  somebody  tapped  his  shoulder  with  a 
parasol,  and  he  looked  up  and  saw  Mrs.  Amelia. 

This  woman  had  a  way  of  tyrannising;  over  Major  Dobbin  (for 
the  weakest  of  all  people  will  domineer  over  somebody),  and  she 
ordered  him  about,  and  patted  him,  and  made  him  fetch  and  carry 
just  as  if  he  was  a  great  Newfoundland  dog.  He  liked,  so  to  speak^^ 
to  jump  into  the  water  if  she  said  ^-gigh,  Dobbin  ! "  and  to  trolf 
behind  her  with  her  reticule  in  his  mouIlL  This  history  has^Been 
written  to  very  little  purpose  if  the  reader  has  not  perceived  that 
the  Major  was  a  spooney. 

"  Why  did  you  not  wait  for  me,  sir,  to  escort  me  downstairs  1 " 
she  said,  giving  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  and  a  most  sarcastic 
curtsey. 

"I  couldn't  stand  up  in  the  passage,"  he  answered,  with  a 
comical  deprecatory  look ;  and,  delighted  to  give  her  his  arm,  and 
to  take  her  out  of  the  horrid  smoky  place,  he  would  have  walked 
off  without  even  so  much  as  remembering  the  waiter,  had  not  the 
young  fellow  run  after  him  and  stopped  him  on  the  threshold  of  the 
Elephant,  to  make  him  pay  for  the  beer  which  he  had  not  con- 
sumed. Emmy  laughed :  she  called  him  a  naughty  man,  who 
wanted  to  run  away  in  debt :  and,  in  fact,  made  some  jokes  suitable 
to  the  occasion  and  the  small-beer.  She  was  in  high  spirits  and 
good  humour,  and  tripped  across  the  market-place  very  briskly. 
She  wanted  to  see  Jos  that  instant.  The  Major  laughed  at  the 
impetuous  affection  Mrs.  Amelia  exhibited ;  for,  in  truth,  it  was 
not  very  often  that  she  wanted  her  brother  "  that  instant." 

They  found  the  Civilian  in  his  saloon  on  the  first-floor ;  he  had 
been  pacing  the  room,  and  biting  his  nails,  and  looking  over  the 
market-place  towards  the  Elephant  a  hundred  times  at  least  during 
the  past  hour,  whilst  Emmy  was  closeted  with  her  friend  in  the 
garret,  and  the  Major  was  beating  the  tattoo  on  the  sloppy  tables 
of  the  public  room  below,  and  he  was,  on  his  side  too,  very  anxious 
to  see  Mrs.  Osborne. 

"Welir'saidhe. 

"  The  poor  dear  creature,  how  she  has  suffered  !  "  Emmy  said. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  yes,"  Jos  said,  wagging  his  head,  so  that 
his  cheeks  quivered  like  jellies. 

"  She  may  have  Payne's  room ;  who  can  go  upstairs,"  Emmy 
continued.     Payne  was  a  staid  English  maid  and  personal  attendant 


6$i  VANITY    FAIR 

upon  Mrs.  Osborne,  to  whom  the  courier,  as  in  duty  bound,  paid 
court,  and  whom  Georgy  used  to  "  lark  "  dreadfully  with  accounts 
of  German  robbers  and  ghosts.  She  passed  her  time  chiefly  in 
grumbling,  in  ordering  about  her  mistress,  and  in  stating  her  inten- 
tion to  return  the  next  morning  to  her  native  village  of  Olapham. 
"  She  may  have  Payne's  room,"  Emmy  said. 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  have  that 
woman  into  the  house  ?  "  bounced  out  the  Major,  jumping  up. 

"  Of  course  we  are,"  said  Amelia  in  the  most  innocent  way  in 
the  world.  "Don't  be  angry,  and  break  the  furniture,  Major 
Dobbin.     Of  course  we  are  going  to  have  her  here." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,"  Jos  said. 

"  The  poor  creature,  after  all  her  sufferings,"  Emmy  continued : 
"  her  horrid  banker  broken  and  run  away :  her  husband — wicked 
wretch — having  deserted  her  and  taken  her  child  away  from  her  " 
(here  she  doubled  her  two  little  fists  and  held  them  in  a  most 
menacing  attitude  before  her,  so  that  the  Major  was  charmed  to  see 
such  a  dauntless  virago),  "  the  poor  dear  thing !  quite  alone  and 
absolutely  forced  to  give  lessons  in  singing  to  get  her  bread — and 
not  have  her  here  !  " 

"Take  lessons,  my  dear  Mrs.  George,"  cried  the  Major,  "but 
don't  have  her  in  the  house.     I  implore  you  don't." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Jos. 

"  You  who  are  always  good  and  kind :  always  used  to  be  at 
any  rate :  I'm  astonished  at  you,  Major  William,"  Amelia  cried. 
"  Why,  what  is  the  moment  to  help  her  but  when  she  is  so  miser- 
able ?  Now  is  the  time  to  be  of  service  to  her.  The  oldest  friend 
I  ever  had,  and  not " 

"  She  was  not  always  your  friend,  Amelia,"  the  Major  said,  for 
he  was  quite  angry.  This  allusion  was  too  much  for  Emmy,  who, 
looking  the  Major  almost  fiercely  in  the  face,  said,  "  For  shame, 
Major  Dobbin ! "  and  after  having  fired  this  shot,  she  walked  out 
of  the  room  with  a  most  majestic  air,  and  shut  her  own  door  briskly 
on  herself  and  her  outraged  dignity, 

"  To  allude  to  that ! "  she  said,  when  the  door  was  closed. 
"  Oh,  it  was  cruel  of  him  to  remind  me  of  it,"  and  she  looked  up  at 
George's  picture,  which  hung  there  as  usual,  with  the  portrait  of 
the  boy  underneath.  "  It  was  cruel  of  him.  If  I  had  forgiven  it, 
ought  he  to  have  spoken  1  No.  And  it  is  from  his  own  lips  that 
I  know  how  wicked  and  groundless  my  jealousy  was ;  and  that  you 
were  pure — oh  yes,  you  were  pure,  my  saint  in  heaven  !  " 

She  paced  the  room  trembling  and  indignant.  She  went  and 
leaned  on  the  chest  of  drawers  over  which  the  picture  hung,  and 
gazed  and  gazed  at  it.     Its  eyes  seemed  to  look  down  on  her  with 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A    HERO  653 


a^reproachjthat  deepened  as  she  looked.  The  early  dear  dear 
memOTieS'of  that  brief  prime  of  love  rushed  back  upon  her.  The 
wound  which  years  had  scarcely  cicatrised  bled  afresh,  and  oh,  how 
bitterly  !  She  could  not  bear  the  reproaches  of  the  husband  there 
before  her.     It  couldn't  be.     Never,  never.  ^..^^ 

Poor  Dobbin ;  poor  old  William  !     That  unlucky  word  had  un-    ] 
done  the  work  of  many  a  year — the  long  laborious  edifice  of  a  life    /  \ 
of  love  and  constancy — raised  too  upon  what  secret  and  hidden  /   \/ 
foundations,  wherein  lay  buried  passions,  uncounted  struggles,  un-  /•     / 
known  sacrifices — a  little  word  was  spoken,  and  down  fell  the  fair 
palace  of  hope — one  word,  and  away  flew  the  bird  which  he  had 
been  trying  all  his  life  to  lure  ! 

William,  though  he  saw  by  Amelia's  looks  that  a  great  crisis 
had  come,  nevertheless  continued  to  implore  Sedley  in  the  most 
energetic  terms  to  beware  of  Rebecca ;  and  he  eagerly,  almost  fran- 
tically, adjured  Jos  not  to  receive  her.  He  besought  Mr.  Sedley 
to  inquire  at  least  regarding  her :  told  him  how  he  had  heard  that 
she  was  in  the  company  of  gamblers  and  people  of  ill  repute; 
pointed  out  what  evil  she  had  done  in  former  days :  how  she  and 
Crawley  had  misled  poor  George  into  ruin :  how  she  was  now 
parted  from  her  husband,  by  her  own  confession,  and,  perhaps,  for 
good  reason.  What  a  dangerous  companion  she  would  be  for  his 
sister,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  affairs  of  the  world  !  William  im- 
plored Jos,  with  all  the  eloquence  which  he  could  bring  to  bear, 
and  a  great  deal  more  energy  than  this  quiet  gentleman  was 
ordinarily  in  the  habit  of  showing,  to  keep  Rebecca  out  of  his 
household. 

Had  he  been  less  violent,  or  more  dexterous,  he  might  have 
succeeded  in  his  supplications  to  Jos ;  but  the  Civilian  was  not  a 
little  jealous  of  the  airs  of  superiority  which  the  Major  constantly 
exhibited  towards  him,  as  he  fancied  (indeed,  he  had  imparted  his 
opinions  to  Mr.  Kirsch,  the  courier,  whose  bills  Major  Dobbin 
checked  on  this  journey,  and  who  sided  with  his  master),  and  he 
began  a  blustering  speech  about  his  competency  to  defend  his  own 
honom-,  his  desire  not  to  have  his  affairs  meddled  with,  his  inten- 
tion, in  fine,  to  rebel  against  the  Major,  when  the  colloquy — rather 
a  long  and  stormy  one — was  put  an  end  to  in  the  simplest  way 
possible,  namely,  by  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Becky,  with  a  porter  from 
the  Elephant  Hotel,  in  charge  of  her  very  meagre  baggage. 

She  greeted  her  host  with  affectionate  respect,  and  made  a 
shrinking,  but  amicable,  salutation  to  Major  Dobbin,  who,  as  her 
instinct  assured  her  at  once,  was  her  enemy,  and  had  been  speaking 
against  her ;  and  the  bustle  and  clatter  consequent  upon  her  arrival 
brought  Amelia  out  of  her  room.     Emmy  went  up  and  embraced 


654  VANITY    FAIR 

her  guest  with  the  greatest  warmth,  and  took  no  notice  of  the 

Major,  except  to  fling  him  an  angry  look — the  most  unjust  and 

^scornful  glance  that  had  perhaps  ever  appeared  in  that  poor  httle 

—woman's  face  since  she  was  born.     But  she  had  private  reasons  pt 

^  _her  own,  and  was  bent  upon  being  angiy  with  him.     And  Dobbin, 

indignant  at  the  injustice,  not  at  the  defeat,  went  off,  making  her  a 

bow  quite  as  haughty  as  the  killing  curtsey  with  which  the  little 

woman  chose  to  bid  him  farewell. 

He  being  gone,  Emmy  was  particularly  lively  and  affectionate 
to  Rebecca,  and  bustled  about  the  apartments  and  installed  her 
guest  in  her  room  with  an  eagerness  and  activity  seldom  exhibited 
by  our  placid  little  friend.  But  when  an  act  of  injustice  is  to  be 
done,  especially  by  weak  people,  it  is  best  that  it  should  be  done 
quickly ;  and  Emmy  thought  she  was  displaying  a  great  deal  of  firm- 
ness and  proper  feeling  and  veneration  for  the  late  Captain  Osborne 
in  her  present  behaviour. 

Georgy  came  in  from  the  fetes  for  dinner-time,  and  found  four 
covers  laid  as  usual ;  but  one  of  the  places  was  occupied  by  a  lady, 
instead  of  by  Major  Dobbin.  "  Hullo  !  where's  Dob  ? "  the  young 
gentleman  asked,  with  his  usual  simplicity  of  language.  "Major 
Dobbin  is  dining  out,  I  suppose,"  his  mother  said ;  and,  drawing 
the  boy  to  her,  kissed  him  a  great  deal,  and  put  his  hair  off  his 
forehead,  and  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Crawley.  "  This  is  my  boy, 
Rebecca,"  Mrs.  Osborne  said — as  much  as  to  say — can  the  world 
produce  anything  like  that?  Becky  looked  at  him  with  rapture, 
and  pressed  his  hand  fondly.     "  Dear  boy  !  "  she  said — "  he  is  just 

like  my "     Emotion  choked  her  further  utterance ;  but  Amelia 

understood,  as  well  as  if  she  had  spoken,  that  Becky  was  thinking 
of  her  own  blessed  child.  However,  the  company  of  her  friend 
consoled  Mrs.  Crawley,  and  she  ate  a  very  good  dinner. 

During  the  repast,  she  had  occasion  to  speak  several  times,  when 
Georgy  eyed  her  and  listened  to  her.  At  the  dessert  Emmy  was 
gone  out  to  superintend  further  domestic  arrangements  :  Jos  was  in 
his  great  chair  dozing  over  Galignani :  Georgy  and  the  new  arrival 
sat  close  to  each  other :  he  had  continued  to  look  at  her  knowingly 
more  than  once,  and  at  last,  he  laid  down  the  nut-crackers. 

"  I  say,"  said  Georgy. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  Becky  said,  laughing. 

"  You're  the  lady  I  saw  in  the  mask  at  the  Rouge  et  Noir." 

"  Hush  !  you  little  sly  creature,"  Becky  said,  taking  up  his  hand 
and  kissing  it.  "  Your  uncle  was  there  too,  and  mamma  mustn't 
know." 

"  Oh  no — not  by  no  means,"  answered  the  little  fellow. 

"You  see  we  are  quite  good  friends  already,"  Becky  said  to 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  655 

Emmy,  who  now  re-entered ;  and  it  must  be  owned  that  Mrs. 
Osborne  had  introduced  a  most  judicious  and  amiable  companion 
into  her  house. 

William,  in  a  state  of  great  indignation,  though  still  unaware  of 
all  the  trea^son  that  was  in  store  for  him,  walked  about  the  town 
wildly  until  he  fell  upon  the  Secretary  of  Legation,  Tapeworm,  who 
invited  him  to  dinner.  As  they  were  discussing  that  meal,  he  took 
occasion  to  ask  the  Secretary  whether  he  knew  anything  about  a 
certain  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  who  had,  he  believed,  made  some 
noise  in  London ;  and  then  Tapeworm,  who  of  course  knew  all  the 
London  gossip,  and  was  besides  a  relative  of  Lady  Gaunt,  poured 
out  into  the  astonished  Major's  ears  such  a  history  about  Becky  and 
her  husband  as  astonished  the  querist,  and  supplied  all  the  points 
of  this  narrative,  for  it  was  at  that  very  table  years  ago  that  the 
present  writer  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  tale.  Tufto,  Steyne, 
the  Crawleys,  and  their  history — everything  connected  with  Becky 
and  her  previous  life  passed  under  the  record  of  the  bitter  diplo- 
matist. He  knew  everything  and  a  great  deal  besides,  about  all 
the  world  ; — in  a  word,  he  made  the  most  astounding  revelations  to 
the  simple-hearted  Major.  When  Dobbin  said  that  Mrs.  Osborne 
and  Mr.  Sedley  had  taken  her  into  their  house.  Tapeworm  burst  into 
a  peal  of  laughter  which  shocked  the  Major,  and  asked  if  they  had 
not  better  send  into  the  prison,  and  take  in  one  or  two  of  the  gentle- 
men in  shaved  heads  and  yellow  jackets,  who  swept  the  streets  of 
Pumpernickel,  chained  in  pairs,  to  board  and  lodge,  and  act  as  tutor 
to  that  little  scapegrace  Georgy. 

This  information  astonished  and  horrified  the  Major  not  a  little. 
It  had  been  agreed  in  the  morning  (before  meeting  with  Rebecca) 
that  Amelia  should  go  to  the  Court  ball  that  night.  There  would 
be  the  place  where  he  should  tell  her.  The  Major  went  home  and 
dressed  himself  in  his  uniform,  and  repaired  to  Court,  in  hopes  to 
see  Mrs.  Osborne.  She  never  came.  When  he  returned  to  his 
lodgings  all  the  lights  in  the  Sedley  tenement  were  put  out.  He 
could  not  see  her  till  the  morning.  I  don't  know  what  sort  of 
a  night's  rest  he  had  with  this  frightful  secret  in  bed  with  him. 

At  the  earliest  convenient  hour  in  the  morning  he  sent  his 
servant  across  the  way  with  a  note,  saying,  that  he  wished  very 
particularly  to  speak  with  her.  A  message  came  back  to  say,  that 
Mrs.  Osborne  was  exceedingly  unwell,  and  was  keeping  her  room. 

She,  too,  had  been  awake  all  that  night.    She  had  been  thinking 

of.  a  thing  which  had  agitated  her  mind  a  hundred  times  before.     A 

hundred  times  on  the  point  of  yielding,  she  had  shrunk  back  from  a 

sacrifice  which  she  felt  was  too  much  for  her.    She  couldn't,  in  spite 

2  c 


656  VANITY    FAIR 

of  his  love  and  constancy,  and  her  own  acknowledged  regard,  respect, 
Zand  gratitude.  What  are  benefits,  what  is  constancy,  or  merit  ? 
One  curl  of  a  girl's  ringlet,  one  hair  of  a  whisker,  will  turn  the  scale 
against  them  all  in  a  minute.  They  did  not  weigh  with  Emmy 
more  than  with  other  women.  She  had  tried  them ;  wanted  to 
make  them  ,^ass;  could  not;  and  the  pitiless  little  woman  had 
found  a  pretext^tind  determined  to  be  free. 

When  at  length,  in  the  afternoon,  the  Major  gained  admission 
to  Amelia,  instead  of  the  cordial  and  affectionate  greeting,  to  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  now  for  many  a  long  day,  he  received  the 
salutation  of  a  curtsey,  and  of  a  little  gloved  hand,  retracted  the 
moment  after  it  was  accorded  to  him. 

Rebecca,  too,  was  in  the  room,  and  advanced  to  meet  him  with 
a  smile  and  an  extended  hand.  Dobbin  drew  back  rather  confusedly. 
" I — I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  he  said ;  "but  I  am  bound  to  tell 
you  that  it  is  not  as  your  friend  that  I  am  come  here  now." 

"  Pooh  !  damn ;  don't  let  us  have  this  sort  of  thing  ! "  Jos  cried 
out,  alarmed,  and  anxious  to  get  rid  of  a  scene. 

"  I  wonder  what  Major  Dobbin  has  to  say  against  Rebecca  1 " 
Amelia  said  in  a  low,  clear  voice  with  a  slight  quiver  in  it,  and  a 
very  determined  look  about  the  eyes. 

"I  will  not  have  this  sort  of  thing  in  my  house,"  Jos  again 
interposed.  "  I  say  I  will  not  have  it :  and  Dobbin,  I  beg,  sir, 
you'll  stop  it."  And  he  looked  round  trembling  and  turning  very 
red,  and  gave  a  great  puff,  and  made  for  his  door. 

"Dear  friend!"  Rebecca  said  with  angelic  sweetness,  "do  hear 
what  Major  Dobbin  has  to  say  against  me." 

"  I  will  not  hear  it,  I  say,"  squeaked  out  Jos  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  and,  gathering  up  his  dressing-gown,  he  was  gone. 

"We  are  only  two  women,"  Amelia  said.  "You  can  speak 
now,  sir." 

"  This  manner  towards  me  is  one  which  scarcely  becomes  you, 
Amelia,"  the  Major  answered  haughtily ;  "  nor  I  believe  am  I  guilty 
of  habitual  harshness  to  women.  It  is  not  a  pleasure  to  me  to  do 
the  duty  which  I  am  come  to  do." 

"  Pray  proceed  with  it  quickly,  if  you  please.  Major  Dobbin," 
said  Amelia,  who  was  more  and  more  in  a  pet.  The  expression  of 
Dobbin's  face,  as  she  spoke  in  this  imperious  manner,  was  not 
pleasant. 

"  I  came  to  say — and  as  you  stay,  Mrs.  Crawley,  I  must  say  it 
in  your  presence — that  I  think  you — you  ought  not  to  form  a 
member  of  the  family  of  my  friends.  A  lady  who  is  separated  from 
her  husband,  who  travels  not  under  her  own  name,  who  frequents 
public  gaming-tables " 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  657 

"  It  was  to  the  ball  I  went,"  cried  out  Becky. 

"  — is  not  a  fit  companion  for  Mrs.  Osborae  and  her  son,"  Dobbin 
went  on :  "  and  I  may  add  that  there  are  people  here  who  know 
you,  and  who  profess  to  know  thaj^  regarding  your  conduct,  about 
which  I  don't  even  wish  to  speak  before — before  Mrs.  Osborne." 

"  Yours  is  a  very  modest  and  convenient  sort  of  calumny,  Major 
Dobbin,"  Rebecca  said.  "You  leave  me  under  the  weight  of  an 
accusation  which,  after  all,  is  unsaid.  What  is  it?  Is  it  unfaith- 
fulness to  my  husband?  I  scorn  it,  and  defy  anybody  to  prove  it 
— I  defy  you,  I  say.  My  honour  is  as  untouched  as  that  of  the 
bitterest  enemy  who  ever  maligned  me.  Is  it  of  being  poor,  forsaken, 
wretched,  that  you  accuse  me?  Yes,  I  am  guilty  of  those  faults, 
and  punished  for  them  every  day.  Let  me  go,  Emmy.  It  is  only 
to  suppose  that  I  have  not  met  you,  and  I  am  no  worse  to-day  than 
I  was  yesterday.  It  is  only  to  suppose  that  the  night  is  over  and 
the  poor  wanderer  is  on  her  way.  Don't  you  remember  the  song  we 
used  to  sing  in  old,  dear  old  days?  I  have  been  wandering  ever 
since  then — a  poor  castaway,  scorned  for  being  miserable,  and 
insulted  because  I  am  alone.  Let  me  go :  my  stay  here  interferes 
with  the  plans  of  this  gentleman." 

"Indeed  it  does,  madam,"  said  the  Major.  "If  I  have  any 
authority  in  this  house " 

"  Authority,  none  !  "  broke  out  Amelia.  "  Rebecca,  you  stay 
with  me.  /  won't  desert  you  because  you  have  been  persecuted, 
or  insult  you  because — because  Major  Dobbin  chooses  to  do  so. 
Come  away,  dear."     And  the  two  women  made  towards  the  door. 

William  opened  it.  As  they  were  going  out,  however,  he  took 
Amelia's  hand,  and  said,  "Will  you  stay  a  moment  and  speak 
to  me?" 

"  He  wishes  to  speak  to  you  away  from  me,"  said  Becky,  looking 
like  a  martyr.     Amelia  gripped  her  hand  in  reply. 

"Upon  my  honour  it  is  not  about  you  that  I  am  going  to 
speak,"  Dobbin  said.  "Come  back,  Amelia,"  and  she  came. 
Dobbin  bowed  to  Mrs.  Crawley  as  he  shut  the  door  upon  her. 
Amelia  looked  at  him,  leaning  against  the  glass :  her  face  and  her 
lips  were  quite  white. 

"  I  was  confused  when  I  spoke  just  now,"  the  Major  said,  after 
a  pause,  "and  I  misused  the  word  authority." 

"  You  did,"  said  Amelia,  with  her  teeth  chattering. 

"  At  least  I  have  claims  to  be  heard,"  Dobbin  continued. 

"  It  is  generous  to  remind  me  of  our  obligations  to  you ! "  the 
woman  answered. 

"The  claims  I  mean  are  those  left  me  by  George's  father," 
William  said. 


658  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Yes,  and  you  insulted  his  memory.  You  did  yesterday.  You 
know  you  did.  And  I  will  never  forgive  you.  Never  !  "  said  Amelia. 
She  shot  out  each  little  sentence  in  a  tremor  of  anger  and  emotion. 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Amelia?"  William  said  sadly.  "You 
don't  mean  that  these  words,  uttered  in  a  hurried  moment,  are  to 
weigh  against  a  whole  life's  devotion?  I  think  that  George's 
memory  has  not  been  injured  by  the  way  in  which  I  have  dealt 
with  it,  and  if  we  are  come  to  bandying  reproaches,  I  at  least  merit 
none  from  his  widow  and  the  mother  of  his  son.  Reflect,  after- 
wards when — when  you  are  at  leisure,  and  your  conscience  will 
withdraw  this  accusation.  It  does  even  now."  Amelia  held  down 
her  head. 
T  "It  is  not  that  speech  of  yesterday,"   he  continued,    " which 

1/    moves  you.     That  is  but  the  pretext,  Amelia,  or  I  have  loved  you 
V     and  watched  you  for  fifteen  years  in  vain.     Have  I  not  learned  in 
tha;t~time  to  read  all  your  feelings,  and  look  into  your  thoughts? 
I  know  what  your  heart  is  capable  of :  it  can  cling  faithfully  to  a 
recollection,  and  cherish  a  fancy ;  but  it  can't  feel  such  an  attach- 
ment as  mine  deserves  to  mate  with,  and  such  as  I  would  have  won 
j     from  a  woman  more  generous  than  you.     No,  you  are  not  worthy  of 
the  love  which  I  have  devoted  to  you.     I  knew  all  along  that  the 
prize  I  had  set  my  life  on  was  not  worth  the  winning ;  that  I  was^ 
a  fool,  with  fond  fancies,  too,  bartering  away  my  all  of  truth  and. 
ardour  against  your  little  feeble  remnant  of  love.     1  will  bargain 
no  more :  I  withdraw.     I  find  no  fault  with  you.     You  are  very 
good-natured,   and  have  done  your  best;   but  you  couldn't — you 
couldn't  reach  up  to  the  height  of  the  attachment  which  I  bore  you, 
A        and  which  a  loftier  soul  than  yours  might  have  been  proud  to  share. 
If'        Good-bye,   Amelia !    I  have  watched  your  struggle.      Let  it  end. 
*W^  We  are  both  weary  of  it." 

Amelia  stood  scared  and  silent  as  William  thus  suddenly  broke 
the  chain  by  which  she  held  him,  and  declared  his  independence 
and  superiority.  He  had  placed  himself  at  her  feet  so  long  that 
the  poor  little  woman  had  been  accustomed  to  trample  upon  hiip. 
She  didn't  wish  to  marry  him,  but  she  wished  to  keep  him.  She_ 
wished  to  give  him  nothing,  but  that  he  should  give  her  all.  It  is 
a  bargain  not  unfrequently  levied  in  love. 

William's  sally  had  quite  broken  and  cast  her  down,  ffer 
assault  was  long  since  over  and  beaten  back. 

"Am  I  to  understand  then, — that  you  are  going — away, — 
William  ? "  she  said. 

He  gave  a  sad  laugh.     "I  went  once  before,"  he  said,  "and 
came   back   after   twelve  years.      We  were  yoi^g  then,   Amelia. 
v/      Good-bye.     I  have  spent  enough  of  my  life  at  thi4  play," 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  659 

Whilst  they  had  been  talking,  the  door  into  Mrs.  Osborne's 
room  had  opened  ever  so  little ;  indeed,  Becky  had  kept  a  hold  of 
the  handle,  and  had  turned  it  on  the  instant  when  Dobbin  quitted 
it;  and  she  heard  every  word  of  fJAe  conversation  that  had  passed    1      / 
between  these  two.     "What  a  noble  heart  that  man  has,"  she  fl    / 
thought,  "and  how  shamefully  that  woman  plays  with  it!"     She  Aj( 
admired  Dobbin;  she  bore  him  no  rancour  for  the  part  he  had    /\ 
taken_against  her.     It  was  an  open  move  in  the  game,  and  played 
lairly.     "  Ah  !  "  she  thought,  "  if  I  could  have  had  such  a  husband 
as  ^5at^ — a  man  with  ^  heart  and  brains  too  !^    I  would  not  have 
minded  his  large  feet ; "  and  running  into  her  room,  she  absolutely 
bethought  herself  of  something,  and  wrote  him  a  note,  beseeching 
him  to  stop  for  a  few  days — not  to  think  of  going— and  that  she 
could  serve  him  with  A. 

The  parting  was  over.  Once  more  poor  William  walked  to  the 
door  and  was  gone;  and  the  little  widow,  the  author  of  all  this 
work,  had  her  will,  and  had  won  her  victory,  and  was  left  to  enjoy 
it  as  she  best  might.     Let  the  ladies  envy  her  triumph. 

At  the  romantic  hour  of  dinner,  Mr.  Georgy  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  again  remarked  the  absence  of  "Old  Dob."  The  meal 
was  eaten  in  silence  by  the  party,  Jos's  appetite  not  being  diminished, 
but  Emmy  taking  nothing  at  all. 

After  the  meal,  Oeorgy  was  lolling  in  the  cushions  of  the  old 
window,  a  large  window,  with  three  sides  of  glass,  abutting  from 
the  gable,  and  commanding  on  one  side  the  Market  Place,  where 
the  Elephant  is,  his  mother  being  busy  hard  by,  when  he  remarked 
symptoms  of  movement  at  the  Major's  house  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  he,  "  there's  Dob's  trap — they  are  bringing  it 
out  of  the  courtyard."  The  "trap"  in  question  was  a  carriage 
which  the  Major  had  bought  for  six  pounds  sterling,  and  about 
which  they  used  to  rally  him  a  good  deal. 

Emmy  gave  a  little  start,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Hullo  ! "  Georgy  continued,  "  there's  Francis  coming  out  with 
the  portmanteaus,  and  Kimz,  the  one-eyed  postillion,  coming  down 
the  market  with  three  schimmels.  Look  at  his  boots  and  yellow 
jacket, — ain't  he  a  rum  one"?  Why — they're  putting  the  horses  to 
Dob's  carriage.     Is  he  going  anywhere  *? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Emmy,  "  he  is  going  on  a  journey." 

"  Going  on  a  journey  !  and  when  is  he  coming  back  ? " 

"  He  is — not  coming  back,"  answered  Emmy. 

"Not  coming  back!"  cried  out  Georgy,  jiunping  up.  "Stay" 
here,  sir  !  "  roared  out  Jos.  "  Stay,  Georgy,"  said  his  mother,  with  a 
very  sad  face.     The  boy  stopped ;  kicked  about  the  room ;  jumped 


66o  VANITY    FAIR 

up  and  down  from  the  window-seat  with  his  knees,  and  showed 
every  symptom  of  uneasiness  and  curiosity. 

The  horses  were  put  to.  The  baggage  was  strapped  on.  Francis 
came  out  with  his  master's  sword,  cane,  and  umbrella  tied  up 
together,  and  laid  them  in  the  well,  and  his  desk  and  old  tin  cocked- 
hat  case,  which  he  placed  under  the  seat.  Francis  brought  out  the 
stained  old  blue  cloak  lined  with  red  camlet,  which  had  wrapped 
the  owner  up  any  time  these  fifteen  years,  and  had  manchen  Sturm 
erlebt,  as  a  favourite  song  of  those  days  said.  It  had  been  new  for 
the  campaign  of  Waterloo,  and  had  covered  George  and  William 
after  the  night  of  Quatre  Bras. 

Old  Burcke,  the  landlord  of  the  lodgings,  came  out,  then 
Francis,  with  more  packages — final  packages — then  Major  William, 
— Burcke  wanted  to  kiss  him.  The  Major  was  adored  by  all  people 
with  whom  he  had  to  do.  It  was  with  difficulty  he  could  escape 
from  this  demonstration  of  attachment. 

"  By  Jove,  I  will  go  ! "  screamed  out  George.  "  Give  him  this," 
said  Becky,  quite  interested,  and  put  a  paper  into  the  boy's  hand. 
He  had  rushed  down  the  stairs  and  flung  across  the  street  in  a 
minute — the  yellow  postillion  was  cracking  his  whip  gently. 

William  had  got  into  the  carriage,  released  from  the  embraces 
of  his  landlord.  George  bounded  in  afterwards  and  flung  his  arms 
round  the  Major's  neck  (as  they  saw  from  the  window),  and  began 
asking  him  multiplied  questions.  Then  he  felt  in  his  waistcoat- 
pocket  and  gave  him  a  note.  William  seized  at  it  rather  eagerly, 
he  opened  it  trembling,  but  instantly  his  countenance  changed,  and 
he  tore  the  paper  in  two,  and  dropped  it  out  of  the  carriage.  He 
kissed  Georgy  on  the  head,  and  the  boy  got  out,  doubling  his  fists 
into  his  eyes,  and  with  the  aid  of  Francis.  He  lingered  with  his 
hand  on  the  panel.  Fort,  Schwager  !  The  yellow  postillion  cracked 
his  whip  prodigiously,  up  sprang  Francis  to  the  box,  away  went  the 
schimmels,  and  Dobbin  with  his  head  on  his  breast.  He  never 
looked  up  as  they  passed  under  Amelia's  window :  and  Georgy,  left 
alone  in  the  street,  burst  out  crying  in  the  face  of  all  the  crowd. 
p  Emmy's  maid  heard  him  howling  again  during  the  night,  and 
\  brought  him  some  preserved  apricots  to  console  him.  She  mingled 
, :  her  lamentations  with  his.  All  the  poor,  all  the  humble,  all  honest 
folks,  all  good  men  who  knew  him,  loved  that  kind-hearted  and 
simple  gentleman. 

As  for  Emmy,  had  she  not  done  her  duty  ?    She  had  her  picture 
.  of  George  for  a  consolation. 


CHAPTER  LXVn 

If^HICH  CONTAINS  BIRTHS,   MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS 

WHATEVER  Becky's  private  plan  might  be  by  which 
Dobbin's  true  love  was  to  be  crowned  with  success,  the 
little  woman  thought  that  the  secret  might  keep,  and 
indeed,  being  by  no  means  so  much  interested  about  anybody's 
welfare  as  about  her  own,  she  had  a  great  number  of  things  per- 
taining to  herself  to  consider,  and  which  concerned  her  a  great  deal 
more  than  Major  Dobbin's  happiness  in  this  life. 

She  found  herself  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  in  snug  comfortable 
quarters :  surrounded  by  friends,  kindness,  and  good-natured  simple 
people  such  as  she  had  not  met  with  for  many  a  long  day ;  and, 
wanderer  as  she  was  by  force  and  inclination,  there  were  moments 
when  rest  was  pleasant  to  her.  As  the  most  hardened  Arab  that 
ever  careered  across  the  desert  over  the  hump  of  a  dromedary,  likes 
to  repose  sometimes  under  the  date-trees  by  the  water,  or  to  come 
into  the  cities,  walk  into  the  bazaars,  refresh  himself  in  the  baths, 
and  say  his  prayers  in  the  mosques,  before  he  goes  out  again 
maurauding, — so  Jos's  tents  and  pillau  were  pleasant  to  this  little 
Ishmaelite.  She  picketed  her  steed,  hung  up  her  weapons,  and 
warmed  herself  comfortably  by  his  fire.  The  halt  in  that  roving, 
restless  life  was  inexpressibly  soothing  and  pleasant  to  her. 

So,  pleased  herself,  she  tried  with  all  her  might  to  please  every- 
body ;  and  we  know  that  she  was  eminent  and  successful  as  a 
practitioner  in  the  art  of  giving  pleasure.  As  for  Jos,  even  in  that 
little  interview  in  the  garret  at  the  Elephant  Inn  she  had  found 
means  to  win  back  a  great  deal  of  his  good-will.  In  the  course  of 
a  week,  the  Civilian  was  her  sworn  slave  and  frantic  admirer.  He 
didn't  go  to  sleep  after  dinner,  as  his  custom  was  in  the  much  less 
lively  society  of  Amelia.  He  drove  out  with  Becky  in  his  open 
carriage.  He  asked  little  parties  and  invented  festivities  to  do  her 
honour. 

Tapeworm,  the  Charg^  d' Affaires,  who  had  abused  her  so  cruelly, 
came  to  dine  with  Jos,  and  then  came  every  day  to  pay  his  respects 
to  Becky.  Poor  Emmy,  who  was  never  very  talkative,  and  more 
glum  and  silent  than  ever  after  Dobbin's  departure,  was  quite  for- 


662  VANITY    FAIR 

gotten  when  this  superior  genius  made  her  appearance.  The  French 
Minister  was  as  much  charmed  with  her  as  his  English  rival.  The 
German  ladies,  never  particularly  squeamish  as  regards  morals, 
especially  in  English  people,  were  delighted  with  the  cleverness  and 
wit  of  Mrs.  Osborne's  charming  friend ;  and  though  she  did  not  ask 
to  go  to  Court,  yet  the  most  august  and  Transparent  Personages 
there  heard  of  her  fascinations,  and  were  quite  curious  to  know  her. 
When  it  became  known  that  she  was  noble,  of  an  ancient  English 
family,  that  her  husband  was  a  Colonel  of  the  Guard,  Excellenz  and 
Governor  of  an  island,  only  separated  from  his  lady  by  one  of  those 
trifling  differences  which  are  of  little  account  in  a  country  where 
"  Werther  "  is  still  read,  and  the  "  Wahlverwandtschaften  "  of  Goethe 
is  considered  an  edifying  moral  book,  nobody  thought  of  refusing  to 
receive  her  in  the  very  highest  society  of  the  little  Duchy ;  and  the 
'  ladies  were  even  more  ready  to  call  her  du^  and  to  swear  eternal 

'-   v'^^  friendship  for  her,  than  they  had  been  to  bestow  the  same  inesti- 
^  ^^v^^^rnable  benefits  upon  Amelia.     Love  and  Liberty  are  interpreted  by 
^    ,.-^        those  simple  Germans  in  a  way  which  honest  folks  in  Yorkshire  and 
^^^  Somersetshire  little  understand ;  and  a  lady  might,  in  some  philo- 

sophic and  civilised  towns,  be  divorced  ever  so  many  times  from  her 
respective  husbands,  and  keep  her  character  in  society.  Jos's  house 
never  was  so  pleasant  since  he  had  a  house  of  his  own,  as  Rebecca 
caused  it  to  be.  She  sang,  she  played,  she  laughed,  she  talked  in 
two  or  three  languages ;  she  brought  everybody  to  the  house ;  and 
she  made  Jos  believe  that  it  was  his  own  great  social  talents  and 
wit  which  gathered  the  society  of  the  place  round  about  him. 

As  for  Emmy,  who  found  herself  not  in  the  least  mistress  of 
hex  own  house,  except  when  the  bills  were  to  be  paid,  Becky  soon 
discovered  the  way  to  soothe  and  please  her.  She  talked  to  her 
perpetually  about  Major  Dobbin  sent  about  his  business,  and  made 
no  scruple  of  declaring  her  admiration  for  that  excellent,  high-minded 
gentleman,  and  of  telling  Emmy  that  she  had  behaved  most  cruelly 
regarding  him.  Emmy  defended  her  conduct,  and  showed  that  it 
was  dictated  only  by  the  purest  religious  principles ;  that  a  woman 
once,  &c.,  and  to  such  an  angel  as  him  whom  she  had  had  the  good 
fortune  to  marry,  was  married  for  ever;  but  she  had  no  objection 
to  hear  the  Major  praised  as  much  as  ever  Becky  chose  to  praise 
him;  and  indeed  brought  the  conversation  round  to  the  Dobbin 
subject  a  score  of  times  every  day. 

Means  were  easily  found  to  win  the  favour  of  Georgy  and  the 
servants.  Amelia's  maid,  it  has  been  said,  was  heart  and  soul  in 
favour  of  the  genitous  Major.  Having  at  first  disliked  Becky  for 
being  the  means  of  Ifcmissing  him  from  the  presence  of  her  mistress, 
she  was  reconciled  to  Mrs.  Crawley  subsequently,  because  the  latter 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  663 

became  William's  most  ardent  admirer  and  champion.  And  in 
those  nightly  conclaves  in  which  the  two  ladies  indulged  after  their 
parties,  and  while  Miss  Payne  was  "  brushing  their  'airs,"  as  she 
called  the  yellow  locks  of  the  one,  j^nd  the  soft  brown  tresses  of  the 
other,  this  girl  always  put  in  her  word  for  that  dear  good  gentleman 
Major  Dobbin.  Her  advocacy  did  not  make  Amelia  angry  any 
more  than  Rebecca's  admiration  of  him.  She  made  George  write 
to  him  constantly,  and  persisted  in  sending  mamma's  kind  love  in  a 
postscript.  And  as  she  looked  at  her  husband's  portrait  of  nights,  it_ 
no_Jpnger  reproached  her — perhaps  she  reproadbed  it,  now  William 
was  gone. 

"  Emmy  was  not  very  happy  after  her  heroic  sacrifice.  She  was 
very  distraite,  nervous,  silent,  and  ill  to  please.  The  family  had 
never  known  her  so  peevish.  She  grew  pale  and  ill.  She  used  to 
try  to  sing  certain  songs  ("  Einsam  bin  ich  nicht  alleine,"  was  one 
of  them ;  that  tender  love-song  of  Weber's,  which,  in  old-fashioned 
days,  young  ladies,  and  when  you  were  scarcely  born,  showed  that 
those  who  lived  before  you  knew  too  how  to  love  and  to  sing) ; — 
certain  songs,  I  say,  to  which  the  Major  was  partial ;  and  as  she 
warbled  them  in  the  twilight  in  the  drawing-room,  she  would  break 
off  in  the  midst  of  the  song,  and  walk  into  her  neighbouring  apart- 
ment, and  there,  no  doubt,  take  refuge  in  the  miniature  of  her 
husband. 

Some  books  still  subsisted,  after  Dobbin's  departure,  with  his 
name  written  in  them :  a  German  Dictionary,  for  instance,  with 
"William  Dobbin,  — th  Reg.,"  in  the  fly-leaf;  a  guide-book  with 
his  initials,  and  one  or  two  other  volumes  which  belonged  to  the 
Major.  Emmy  cleared  these  away,  and  put  them  on  the  drawers, 
where  she  placed  her  workbox,  her  desk,  her  Bible,  and  Prayer- 
book,  under  the  pictures  of  the  two  Georges.  And  the  Major,  on 
going  away,  having  left  his  gloves  behind  him,  it  is  a  fact  that 
Georgy,  rummaging  his  mother's  desk  some  time  afterwards,  found 
the  gloves  neatly  folded  up,  and  put  away  in  what  they  call  the 
secret  drawers  of  the  desk. 

Not  caring  for  society,  and  moping  there  a  great  deal,  Emmy's 
chief  pleasure  in  the  summer  evenings  was  to  take  long  walks  with 
Georgy  (during  which  Rebecca  was  left  to  the  society  of  Mr. 
Joseph),  and  then  the  mother  and  son  used  to  talk  about  the 
Major  in  a  way  which  even  made  the  boy  smile.  She  told  him  that 
she  thought  Major  William  was  the  best  man  in  all  the  world ;  the 
gentlest  and  the  kindest,  the  bravest  and  the  humblest.  Over  and 
over  again,  she  told  him  how  they  owed  everything  which  they 
possessed  in  the  world  to  that  kind  friend's  benevolent  care  of  them ; 
how  he  had  befriended  them  all  through  their  poverty  and  misfor- 


664  VANITY    FAIR 

tunes;  watched  over  them  when  nobody  cared  for  them;  how  all 
his  comrades  admired  him,  though  he  never  spoke  of  his  own  gallant 
actions ;  how  Georgy's  father  trusted  him  beyond  all  other  men,  and 
had  been  constantly  befriended  by  the  good  William.  "  Why,  when 
your  papa  was  a  little  boy,"  she  said,  "  he  often  told  me  that  it  was 
William  who  defended  him  against  a  tyrant  at  the  school  where 
they  were;  and  their  friendship  never  ceased  from  that  day  until 
the  last,  when  your  dear  father  fell." 

"Did  Dobbin  kill  the  man  who  killed  papa*?"  Georgy  said. 
"I'm  sure  he  did,  or  he  would  if  he  could  have  caught  him; 
wouldn't  he,  mother?  When  I'm  in  the  army,  won't  I  hate  the 
French  !— that's  all." 

In  such  colloquies  the  mother  and  the  child  passed  a  great  deal 
of  their  time  together.  The  artless  woman  had  made  a  confidant 
of  the  boy.  He  was  as  much  William's  friend  as  everybody  else 
who  knew  him  well. 

By  the  way,  Mrs.  Becky,  not  to  be  behindhand  in  sentiment, 
had  got  a  miniature  too  hanging  up  in  her  room,  to  the  surprise  and 
amusement  of  most  people,  and  the  delight*  of  the  original,  who  was 
no  other  than  our  friend  Jos.  On  her  first  coming  to  favour  the 
Sedleys  with  a  visit,  the  little  woman,  who  had  arrived  with  a 
remarkably  small  shabby  kit,  was  perhaps  ashamed  of  the  meanness 
of  her  trunks  and  bandboxes,  and  often  spoke  with  great  respect 
about  her  baggage  left  behind  at  Leipsic,  which  she  must  have  from 
that  city.  When  a  traveller  talks  to  you  perpetually  about  the  splen- 
dour of  his  luggage,  which  he  does  not  happen  to  have  with  him ;  my 
son,  beware  of  that  traveller !     He  is,  ten  to  one,  an  impostor. 

Neither  Jos  nor  Emmy  knew  this  important  maxim.  It  seemed 
to  them  of  no  consequence  whether  Becky  had  a  quantity  of  very 
fine  clothes  in  invisible  trunks ;  but  as  her  present  supply  was 
exceedingly  shabby,  Emmy  supplied  her  out  of  her  own  stores,  or 
took  her  to  the  best  milliner  in  the  town,  and  there  fitted  her  out. 
It  was  no  more  torn  collars  now,  I  promise  you,  and  faded  silks 
trailing  off  at  the  shoulder.  Becky  changed  her  habits  with  her 
situation  in  life — the  rouge-pot  was  suspended — another  excitement 
to  which  she  had  accustomed  herself  was  also  put  aside,  or  at  least 
only  indulged  in  in  privacy ;  as  when  she  was  prevailed  on  by  Jos 
of  a  summer  evening,  Emmy  and  the  boy  being  absent  on  theii- 
walks,  to  take  a  little  spirit-and- water.  But  if  she  did  not  indulge 
— -the  courier  did :  that  rascal  Kirsch  could  not  be  kept  from  the 
bottle ;  nor  could  he  tell  how  much  he  took  when  he  applied  to  it. 
He  was  sometimes  surprised  himself  at  the  way  in  which  Mr. 
Sedley's  cognac  diminished.     Well,  well ;  this  is  a  painfiil  subject. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  665 

Becky  did  not  very  likely  indulge  so  much  as  she  used  before  she 
entered  a  decorous  family. 

At  last  the  much-bragged-about  boxes  arrived  from  Leipsic;— 
three  of  them,  not  by  any  means  ferge  or  splendid ; — nor  did  Becky 
appear  to  take  out  any  sort  of  dresses  or  ornaments  from  the  boxes 
when  they  did  arrive.  But  out  of  one,  which  contained  a  mass  of 
her  papers  (it  was  that  very  box  which  Rawdon  Crawley  had  ran- 
sacked in  his  furious  hunt  for  Becky's  concealed  money),  she  took 
a  picture  with  great  glee,  which  she  pinned  up  in  her  room,  and  to 
which  she  introduced  Jos.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  gentleman  in 
pencil,  his  face  having  the  advantage '  of  being  painted  up  in  pink. 
He  was  riding  on  an  elephant  away  from  some  cocoa-nut  trees,  and 
a  pagoda  :  it  was  an  Eastern  scene. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  it  is  my  portrait !  "  Jos  cried  out.  It  was 
he  indeed,  blooming  in  youth  and  beauty,  in  a  nankeen  jacket  of 
the  cut  of  1804.  It  was  the  old  picture  that  used  to  hang  up  in 
Russell  Square. 

"  I  bought  it,"  said  Becky,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion ; 
"  I  went  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  my  kind  friends.  I 
have  never  parted  with  that  picture — I  never  will." 

"Won't  you?"  Jos  cried,  with  a  look  of  unutterable  rapture 
and  satisfaction.     "  Did  you  really  now  value  it  for  my  sake  1 " 

"You  know  I  did,  well  enough,"  said  Becky  ;  "  but  why  speak, 
— why  think,— why  look  back  ?     It  is  too  late  now  ! " 

That  evening's  conversation  was  delicious  for  Jos.  Emmy  only 
came  in  to  go  to  bed  very  tired  and  unwell.  Jos  and  his  fair  guest 
had  a  charming  tete-a-tete,  and  his  sister  could  hear,  as  she  lay 
awake  in  her  adjoining  chamber,  Rebecca  singing  over  to  Jos  the 
old  songs  of  1815.  He  did  not  sleep,  for  a  wonder,  that  night,  any 
more  than  Amelia. 

It  was  June,  and,  by  consequence,  high  season  in  London ;  Jos, 
who  read  the  incomparable  Galignani  (the  exile's  best  friend)  through 
every  day,  used  to  favour  the  ladies  with  extracts  from  liis  paper 
during  their  breakfast.  Every  week  in  this  paper  there  is  a  full 
account  of  military  movements,  in  which  Jos,  as  a  man  who  had 
seen  service,  was  especially  interested.  On  one  occasion  he  read 
out — "  Arrival  of  the  — th  Regiment.  —  Gravesend,  June  20. — 
The  Ramchunder,  East  Indiaman,  came  into  the  river  this  morning, 
having  on  board  14  ofi&cers  and  132  rank  and  file  of  this  gallant 
corps.  They  have  been  absent  from  England  fourteen  years,  having 
been  embarked  the  year  after  Waterloo,  in  which  glorious  conflict 
they  took  an  active  part,  and  having  subsequently  distinguished 
themselves  in  the  Burmese  war.  The  veteran  colonel.  Sir  Michael 
O'Dowd,  K.C.B.,  with  his  lady  and  sister,  landed  here  yesterday, 

23 


666  VANITY   FAIR 

with  Captains  Posky,  Stubble,  Macraw,  Malony ;  Lieutenants  Smith, 
Jones,  Thompson,  F.  Thomson ;  Ensigns  Hicks  and  Grady ;  the 
band  on  the  pier  playing  the  national  anthem,  and  the  crowd  loudly 
cheering  the  gallant  veterans  as  they  went  into  Wayte's  hotel,  where 
a  sumptuous  banquet  was  provided  for  the  defenders  of  Old  England. 
During  the  repast,  which  we  need  not  say  was  served  up  in  Wayte's 
best  style,  the  cheering  continued  so  enthusiastically,  that  Lady 
O'Dowd  and  the  Colonel  came  forward  to  the  balcony  and  drank 
the  healths  of  their  fellow-countrymen  in  a  bumper  of  Wayte's  best 
claret." 

On  a  second  occasion  Jos  read  a  brief  announcement — Major 
Dobbin  had  joined  the  — th  regiment  at  Chatham ;  and  subsequently 
he  promulgated  accounts  of  the  presentations  at  the  Drawing-room, 
of  Colonel  Sir  Michael  O'Dowd,  K.C.B.,*  Lady  O'Dowd  (by  Mrs. 
MoUoy  Malony  of  Ballymalony),  and  Miss  Glorvina  O'Dowd  (by 
Lady  O'Dowd).  Almost  directly  after  this,  Dobbin's  name  appeared 
among  the  Lieutenant-Colonels :  for  old  Marshal  Tiptoff  had  died 
during  the  passage  of  the  — th  from  Madras,  and  the  Sovereign  was 
pleased  to  advance  Colonel  Sir  Michael  O'Dowd  to  the  rank  of 
Major-General  on  his  return  to  England,  with  an  intimation  that  he 
should  be  Colonel  of  the  distinguished  regiment  which  he  had  so 
long  commanded. 

Amelia  had  been  made  aware  of  some  of  these  movements.  The 
correspondence  between  George  and  his  guardian  had  not  ceased  by 
any  means  :  William  had  even  written  once  or  twice  to  her  since  his 
departure,  but  in  a  manner  so  unconstrainedly  cold,  that  the  poor 
woman  felt  now  in  her  turn  that  she  had  lost  her  power  over  him, 
and  that,  as  he  had  said(he  was  free.  He  had  left  her,  and  she  was 
wretched.  The  memoryof-his  almost  countless  services  and  lofty 
and  affectionate  regard,  now  presented  itself  to  her,  and  rebuked 
her  day  and  night.  She  brooded  over  those  recollections  according 
to  her  wont :  saw  the  purity  and  beauty  of  the  affection  with  which 
she  had  trifled,  and  reproached  herself  for  having  flung  away  such 
a  treasure. 

It  was  gone  indeed.  William  had  spent  it  all  out.  He  loved 
her  no  more,  he  thought,  as  he  had  loved  her.  He  never  could 
again.  That  sort  of  regard  which  he  had  proffered  to  her  for  so 
many  faithful  years,  can't  be  flung  down  and  shattered  and  mended 
so  as  to  show  no  scars.  The  little  heedless  tyrant  had  so  destroyed 
it.  No,  William  thought  again  and  again,  "  it  was  myself  I  deluded, 
and  persisted  in  cajoling ;  had  she  been  worthy  of  the  love  I  gave 
her,  she  would  have  returned  it  long  ago.  It  was  a  fond  mistake. 
Isn't  the  whole  course  of  life  made  up  of  such  1  and  suppose  I  had 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  667 

won  her,  should  I  not  have  been  disenchanted  the  day  after  my 
victory  1  Why  pine,  or  be  ashamed  of  my  defeat  ? "  The  more  he 
thought  of  this  long  passage  of  his  life,  the  more  clearly  he  saw  his 
deception.  "  I'll  go  into  harness  again,"  he  said,  "  and  do  my  duty 
in  that  state  of  life  in  which  it  has  pleased  Heaven  to  place  me.  I 
will  see  that  the  buttons  of  the  recruits  are  properly  bright,  and 
that  the  sergeants  make  no  mistakes  in  their  accounts.  I  will  dine 
at  mess,  and  listen  to  the  Scotch  surgeon  telling  his  stories.  When 
I  am  old  and  broken  I  will  go  on  half-pay,  and  my  old  sisters  shall 
scold  me.  I  have  '  geliebt  und  gelebet,'  as  the  girl  in  '  Wallenstein ' 
says.  I  am  done. — Pay  the  bills  and  get  me  a  cigar  :  find  out  what 
there  is  at  the  play  to-night,  Francis ;  to-morrow  we  cross  by  the 
Batavier.^''  He  made  the  above  speech,  whereof  Francis  only  heard 
the  last  two  lines,  pacing  up  and  down  the  Boompjes  at  Rotterdam. 
The  Batavier  was  lying  in  the  basin.  He  could  see  the  place 
on  the  quarter-deck  where  he  and  Emmy  had  sate  on  the  happy 
voyage  out.  What  had  that  little  Mrs.  Crawley  to  say  to  himi 
Psha !  to-morrow  we  will  put  to  sea,  and  return  to  England,  home, 
and  duty ! 

After  June  all  the  little  Court  Society  of  Pumpernickel  used  to 
separate,  according  to  the  German  plan,  and  make  for  a  hundred 
watering-places,  where  they  drank  at  the  wells ;  rode  upon  donkeys ; 
gambled  at  the  redoutes,  if  they  had  money  and  a  mind ;  rushed 
with  hundreds  of  their  kind  to  gourmandise  at  the  tables  d^hofe  ; 
and  idled  away  the  summer.  The  English  diplomatists  went  off  to 
Toeplitz  and  Kissingen ;  their  French  rivals  shut  up  their  chancellerie 
and  whisked  away  to  their  darling  Boulevard  de  Gand.  The  Trans- 
parent reigning  family  took  too  to  the  waters,  or  retired  to  their 
hunting  lodges.  Everybody  went  away  having  any  pretensions  to 
politeness,  and  of  course,  with  them.  Doctor  von  Glauber,  the  Court 
Doctor,  and  his  Baroness.  The  seasons  for  the  baths  were  the  most 
productive  periods  of  the  Doctor's  practice — he  united  business  with 
pleasure,  and  his  chief  place  of  resort  was  Ostend,  which  is  much 
frequented  by  Germans,  and  where  the  Doctor  treated  himself  and 
his  spouse  to  what  he  called  a  "  dib  "  in  the  sea. 

His  interesting  patient,  Jos,  was  a  regular  milch  cow  to  the 
Doctor,  and  he  easily  persuaded  the  Civilian  both  for  his  own  health's 
sake  and  that  of  his  charming  sister,  which  was  really  very  much 
shattered,  to  pass  the  summer  at  that  hideous  seaport  to-^n.  Emmy 
did  not  care  where  she  went  much.  Georgy  jumped  at  the  idea  of 
a  move.  As  for  Becky,  she  came  as  a  matter  of  course  in  the  fourth 
place  inside  of  the  fine  barouche  Mr.  Jos  had  bought :  the  two 
domestics  being  on  the  box  in  fi-ont.     She  might  have  some  mis- 


668  VANITY    FAIR 

givings  about  the  friends  whom  she  should  meet  at  Ostend,  and 
who  might  be  likely  to  tell  ugly  stories — but  bah  !  she  was  strong 
enough  to  hold  her  own.  She  had  cast  such  an  anchor  in  Jos  now 
as  would  require  a  strong  storm  to  shake.  That  incident  of  the 
picture  had  finished  him.  Becky  took  down  her  elephant,  and  put 
it  into  the  little  box  which  she  had  had  from  Amelia  ever  so  many 
years  ago.  Emmy  also  came  off  with  her  Lares, — her  two  pictures, 
— and  the  party,  finally,  were  lodged  in  an  exceedingly  dear  and 
uncomfortable  house  at  Ostend. 

There  Amelia  began  to  take  baths,  and  get  what  good  she  could 
from  them,  and  though  scores  of  people  of  Becky's  acquaintance 
passed  her  and  cut  her,  yet  Mrs.  Osborne,  who  walked  about  with 
her,  and  who  knew  nobody,  was  not  aware  of  the  treatment  ex- 
perienced by  the  friend  whom  she  had  chosen  so  judiciously  as  a 
companion ;  indeed,  Becky  never  thought  fit  to  tell  her  what  was 
passing  under  her  innocent  eyes. 

Some  of  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  acquaintances,  however,  ac- 
knowledged her  readily  enough, — perhaps  more  readily  than  she 
would  have  desired.  Among  those  were  Major  Loder  (unattached) 
and  Captain  Rook  (late  of  the  Rifles),  who  might  be  seen  any  day 
on  the  Dyke,  smoking  and  staring  at  the  women,  and  who  speedily 
got  an  introduction  to  the  hospitable  board  and  select  circle  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Sedley.  In  fact  they  would  take  no  denial ;  they  burst  into 
the  house  whether  Becky  was  at  home  or  not,  walked  into  Mrs. 
Osborne's  drawing-room,  which  they  perfumed  with  their  coats  and 
mustachios,  called  Jos  "Old  buck,"  and  invaded  his  dinner-table, 
and  laughed  and  drank  for  long  hours  there. 

"  What  can  they  mean  1 "  asked  Georgy,  who  did  not  like  these 
gentlemen.  "  I  heard  the  Major  say  to  Mrs.  Crawley  yesterday, 
'No,  no,  Becky,  you  shan't  keep  the  old  buck  to  yourself  We 
must  have  the  bones  in,  or,  dammy,  I'll  split.'  What  could  the 
Major  mean,  mamma  ? " 

"  Major  !  don't  call  him  Major  !  "  Emmy  said.  "  I'm  sure  I 
can't  tell  what  he  meant."  His  presence  and  that  of  his  friend 
inspired  the  little  lady  with  intolerable  terror  and  aversion.  They 
paid  her  tipsy  compliments;  they  leered  at  her  over  the  dinner- 
table.  And  the  Captain  made  her  advances  that  filled  her  with 
sickening  dismay,  nor  would  she  ever  see  him  unless  she  had  George 
by  her  side. 

Rebecca,*  to  do  her  justice,  never  would  let  either  of  these  men 
remain  alone  with  Amelia ;  the  Major  was  disengaged  too,  and 
swore  he  would  be  the  winner  of  her.  A  couple  of  ruffians  were 
fighting  for  this  innocent  creature,  gambling  for  her  at  her  own 
table ;  and  though  she  was  not  aware  of  the  rascals'  designs  upon 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  669 

her,  yet  she  felt  a  horror  and  uneasiness  in  their  presence,  and 
longed  to  fly. 

She  besought,  she  entreated  Jos  to  go.  Not  he.  He  was  slow 
of  movement,  tied  to  his  Doctor,  and  perhaps  to  some  other  leading- 
strings.     At  least  Becky  was  not  anxious  to  go  to  England. 

At  last  she  took  a  great  resolution — made  the  great  plimge. 
She  wrote  off  a  letter  to  a  friend  whom  she  had  on  the  other  side  of 
the  water;  a  letter  about  which  she  did  not  speak  a  word  to 
anybody,  which  she  carried  herself  to  the  post  under  her  shawl,  nor 
was  any  remark  made  about  it ;  only  that  she  looked  very  much 
flushed  and  agitated  when  Georgy  met  her;  and  she  kissed  him, 
and  hung  over  him  a  great  deal  that  night.  She  did  not  come  out 
of  her  rooan  after  her  return  from  her  walk.  Becky  thought  it  was 
Major  Loder  and  the  Captain  who  frightened  her. 

"  She  mustn't  stop  here,"  Becky  reasoned  with  herself.  "  She 
must  go  away,  the  silly  little  fool.  She  is  still  whimpering  after 
that  gaby  of  a  husband — dead  (and  served  right ! )  these  fifteen 
years.  She  shan't  marry  either  of  these  men.  It's  too  bad  of 
Loder.  No ;  she  shall  marry  the  bamboo-cane,  I'll  settle  it  this 
very  night." 

So  Becky  took  a  cup  of  tea  to  Amelia  in  her  private  apartment, 
and  found  that  lady  in  the  company  of  her  miniatures,  and  in  a 
most  melancholy  and  nervous  condition.  She  laid  down  the  cup 
of  tea. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Amelia. 

"Listen  to  me,  Amelia,"  said  Becky,  marching  up  and  down 
the  room  before  the  other,  and  surveying  her  with  a  sort  of  con- 
temptuous kindness.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  You  must  go  away 
from  here  and  from  the  impertinences  of  these  men.  I  won't  have  you 
harassed  by  them  :  and  they  will  insult  you  if  you  stay.  I  tell  you 
they  are  rascals ;  men  fit  to  send  to  the  hulks.  Never  mind  how  I 
know  them.  I  know  everybody.  Jos  can't  protect  you,  he  is  too 
weak,  and  wants  a  protector  himself  You  are  no  more  fit  to  live 
in  the  world  than  a  baby  in  arms.  You  must  marry,  or  you  and 
your  precious  boy  will  go  to  ruin.  You  must  have  a  husband,  you 
fool ;  and  one  of  the  best  gentlemen  I  ever  saw  has  offered  you  a 
hundred  times,  and  you  have  rejected  him,  you  silly,  heartless, 
ungrateful  little  creature  ! " 

"  I  tried — I  tried  my  best,  indeed  I  did,  Rebecca,"  said  Amelia 

deprecatingly,   "but  I  couldn't  forget "  and  she   finished  the 

sentence  by  looking  up  at  the  portrait. 

"  Couldn't  forget  him  I "  cried  out  Becky,  "  that  selfish  humbug, 
that  low-bred  cockney  dandy,  that  padded  booby,  who  had  neither 
wit,  nor  manners,  nor  heart,  and  was  no  more  to  be  compared  to 


670  VANITY    FAIR 

your  friend  with  the  bamboo-cane  than  you  are  to  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Why,  the  man  was  weary  of  you,  and  would  have  jilted  you,  but 
that  Dobbin  forced  him  to  keep  his  word.  He  owned  it  to  me. 
He  never  cared  for  you.  He  used  to  sneer  about  you  to  me,  time 
after  time ;  and  made  love  to  me  the  week  after  he  married  you." 

"  It's  false  !    It's  false  !  Rebecca,"  cried  out  Amelia,  starting  up. 

"  Look  there,  you  fool,"  Becky  said,  still  with  provoking  good 
humour,  and  taking  a  little  paper  out  of  her  belt,  she  opened  it  and 
flung  it  into  Emmy's  lap.  "  You  know  his  handwriting.  He  wrote 
that  to  me — ^wanted  me  to  run  away  with  him — gave  it  me  under 
your  nose,  the  day  before  he  was  shot — and  served  him  right ! " 
Becky  repeated. 

rEmmy  did  not  hear  her ;  she  was  looking  at  the  letter.  It  was 
that  which  George  had  put  into  the  bouquet  and  given  to  Becky  on 
the  night  of  the  Duchess  of  Richmond's  ball.  It  was  as  she  said : 
the  foolish  young  man  had  asked  her  to  fly. 

Emmy's  head  sank  down,  and  for  almost  the  last  time  in  which 
she  shall  be  called  upon  to  weep  in  this  history,  she  commenced 
that  work.  Her  head  fell  to  her  bosom,  and  her  hands  went  up  to 
her  eyes ;  and  there  for  a  while  she  gave  way  to  her  emotions,  as 

i.  Becky  stood  on  and  regarded  her.  Who  shall  analyse  those  tears, 
and  say  whether  they  were  sweet  or  bitter  1  Was  she  most  grieved 
because  the  idol  of  her  life  was  tumbled  down  and  shivered  at  her 
_|Bet,  or  indignant  that  her  love  had  been  so  despised,  or  j0^l£^(|  J:^gypise 
the  barrier  was  removed  which  modesty  had  placed  between  her  and 
ajiew,  a  real  affection  ?  "  There  is  nothing  to  forbid  me  now,"  she 
thought.  "  I  may  love  him  with  all  my  heart  now.  Oh,  I  will,  I 
will,  if  he  will  but  let  me  and  forgive  me."  I  believe  it  was  this 
feeling  rushed  over  all  the  others  which  agitated  that  gentle  little 
bosom. 

Indeed,  she  did  not  cry  so  much  as  Becky  expected ;  the  other 
soothed  and  kissed  her — a  rare  mark  of  sympathy  with  Mrs.  Becky. 
She  treated  Emmy  like  a  child,  and  patted  her  head.  "  And  now  let 
us  get  pen  and  ink,  and  write  to  him  to  come  this  minute,"  she  said. 
•i  'v.  "I — I  wrote  to  him  this  morning,"  Emmy  said,  blushing  ex- 
ceedingly. Becky  screamed  with  laughter — "  Un  biglietto,''  she 
sang  out  with  Rosina,  "  eccolo  qua  ! " — the  whole  house  echoed  with 
her  shrill  singing. 

Two  mornings  after  this  little  scene,  although  the  day  was  rainy 
and  gusty,  and  Amelia  had  had  an  exceedingly  wakeful  night, 
listening  to  the  wind  roaring,  and  pitying  all  travellers  by  land  and 
by  water,  yet  she  got  up  early,  and  insisted  upon  taking  a  walk  on 
the  Dyke  with  Georgy ;  and  there  she  paced  as  the  rain  beat  into 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  671 

her  face,  and  she  looked  out  westward  across  the  dark  sea  line,  and 
over  the  swollen  billows  which  came  tumbling  and  frothing  to  the 
shore.  Neither  spoke  much,  except  now  and  then,  when  the  boy 
said  a  few  words  to  his  timid  companion,  indicative  of  sympathy 
and  protection. 

"  I  hope  he  won't  cross  in  such  weather,"  Emmy  said. 

"  I  bet  ten  to  one  he  does,"  the  boy  answered.  "  Look,  mother, 
there's  the  smoke  of  the  steamer."     It  was  that  signal,  sure  enough. 

But  though  the  steamer  was  under  way,  he  might  not  be  on 
board ;  he  might  not  have  got  the  letter ;  he  might  not  choose  to 
come. — A  hundred  fears  poured  one  over  the  other  into  the  little 
heart,  as  fast  as  the  waves  on  to  the  Dyke. 

The  boat  followed  the  smoke  into  sight.  Georgy  had  a  dandy 
telescope,  and  got  the  vessel  under  view  in  the  most  skilful  manner. 
And  he  made  appropriate  nautical  comments  upon  the  manner  of 
the  approach  of  the  steamer  as  she  came  nearer  and  nearer,  dipping 
and  rising  in  the  water.  The  signal  of  an  English  steamer  in  sight 
went  fluttering  up  to  the  mast  on  the  pier.  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Amelia's 
heart  was  in  a  similar  flutter. 

Emmy  tried  to  look  through  the  telescope  over  George's  shoulder, 
but  she  could  make  nothing  of  it.  She  only  saw  a  black  eclipse 
bobbing  up  and  down  before  her  eyes. 

George  took  the  glass  again  and  raked  the  vessel.  "  How  she 
does  pitch  ! "  he  said.  "  There  goes  a  wave  slap  over  her  bows. 
There's  only  two  people  on  deck  besides  the  steersman.  There's  a 
man  lying  down,  and  a — chap  in  a — cloak  with  a — Hooray  ! — It's 
Dob,  by  Jingo  ! "  He  clapped  to  the  telescope,  and  flung  his  arms 
round  his  mother.  As  for  that  lady :  let  us  say  what  she  did  in 
the  words  of  a  favourite  poet — AaKpvoev  yeXaa-da-a.  She  was  sure 
it  was  William.  It  could  be  no  other.  What  she  had  said  about 
hoping  that  he  would  not  come  was  all  hypocrisy.  Of  coiu-se  he 
would  come :  what  could  he  do  else  but  come  1  She  knew  he 
would  come. 

The  ship  came  swiftly  nearer  and  nearer.  As  they  went  in  to 
meet  her  at  the  landing-place  at  the  Quay,  Emmy's  knees  trembled 
so  that  she  scarcely  could  run.  She  would  have  liked  to  knenl  down 
and  say  her  prayers  of  thanks  there.  Oh,  she  thought,  she  would 
be  all  her  life  saying  them  ! 

It  was  such  a  bad  day  that  as  the  vessel  came  alongside  of  the 
Quay  there  were  no  idlers  abroad ;  scarcely  even  a  commissioner  on 
the  look-out  for  the  few  passengers  in  the  steamer.  That  young 
scapegrace  George  had  fled  too :  and  as  the  gentleman  in  the  old 
cloak  lined  with  red  stuff"  stepped  on  to  the  shore,  there  was  scarcely 
any  one  present  to  see  what  took  place,  which  was  briefly  this — 


y 


672  VANITY    FAIR 

A  lady  in  a  dripping  white  bonnet  and  shawl,  with  her  two 
little  hands  out;  before  her,  went  up  to  him,  and  in  the  next 
minute  she  had  altogether  disappeared  under  the  folds  of  the  old 
cloak,  and  was  kissing  one  of  his  hands  with  all  her  might ;  whilst 
the  other,  I  suppose,  was  engaged  in  holding  her  to  his  heart  (which 
her  head  just  about  reached)  and  in  preventing  her  from  tumbling 
down.  She  was  murmuring  something  about — forgive — dear  William 
-dear,  dear,  dearest  friend — kiss,  kiss,  kiss,  and  so  forth — and  in 
fact  went  on  under  the  cloak  in  an  absurd  manner. 

When  Emmy  emerged  from  it,  she  still  kept  tight  hold  of  one 
of  William's  hands,  and  looked  up  in  his  face.  It  was  full  of  sad- 
ness and  tender  love  and  pity.  She  understood  its  reproach,  and 
hung  down  her  head. 

"  It  was  time  you  sent  for  me,  dear  Amelia,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  never  go  again,  William'?" 

"  No,  never,"  he  answered  :  and  pressed  the  dear  little  soul  once 
more  to  his  heart. 

As  they  issued  out  of  the  Custom-house  precincts,  Georgy  broke 
out  on  them,  with  his  telescope  up  to  his  eye,  and  a  loud  laugh  of 
welcome ;  he  danced  round  the  couple,  and  performed  many  facetious 
antics  as  he  led  them  up  to  the  house.  Jos  wasn't  up  yet ;  Becky 
not  visible  (though  she  looked  at  them  through  the  blinds).  Georgy 
ran  off  to  see  about  breakfast.  Emmy,  whose  shawl  and  bonnet 
were  off  in  the  passage  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Payne,  now  went  to 
undo  the  clasp  of  William's  cloak,  and — we  will,  if  you  please,  go 
with  George,  and  look  after  breakfast  for  the  Colonel.  The  vessel 
is  in  port.  He  has  got  the  prize  he  has  been  trying  for  all  his  life. 
The  bird  has  come  in  at  last.  There  it  is  with  its  head  on  his 
shoulder,  billing  and  cooing  close  up  to  his  heart,  with  soft  out- 
stretched fluttering  wings.  This  is  what  he  has  asked  for  every 
day  and  hour  for  eighteen  years.  This  is  what  he  pined  after. 
Here  it  is — the  summit,  the  end — the  last  page  of  the  third  volume. 
Good-bye,  Colonel. — God  bless  you,  honest  WillianrK-Farewell, 
dear  Amelia. — Grow  green"  again,  tendCTjittle!  parasite.  Vound  the  \ 
£ugged  old  oak  tq^ which  you  cling  !  V^^     -—^r^-...^       ^  ^^ 

'•  " " — ~^"' ''^^^(^.^^^ 

Perhaps  it  was  compunction  towards  the  kind  and  simple 
creature  who  had  been  the  first  in  life  to  defend  her,  perhaps  it 
was  a  dislike  to  all  such  sentimental  scenes, — but  Rebecca,  satisfied 
with  her  part  in  the  transaction,  never  presented  herself  before 
Colonel  Dobbin  and  the  lady  whom  he  married.  "Particular 
business,"  she  said,  took  her  to  Bruges,  whither  she  went ;  and 
only  Georgy  and  his  uncle  were  present  at  the  marriage  ceremoii,y. 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO  673 

When  it  was  over,  and  Georgy  had  rejoined  his  parents,  Mrs.  Becky 
returned  (just  for  a  few  days)  to  comfort  the  solitary  bachelor, 
Joseph  Sedley.  He  preferred  a  continental  life,  he  said,  and  de- 
clined to  join  in  housekeeping  with  his  sister  and  her  husband. 

Emmy  was  very  glad  in  her  heart  to  think  that  she  had  written 
to  her  husband  before  she  read  or  knew  of  that  letter  of  George's. 
"  I  knew  it  all  along,"  William  said ;  "but  could  I  use  that  weapon 
against  the  poor  fellow's  memory?  It  was  that  which  made  me 
suffer  so  when  you " 

"  Never  speak  of  that  day  again,"  Emmy  cried  our,  so  contrite 
and  humble,  that  William  turned  off  the  conversation,  by  his  account 
of  Glorvina  and  dear  old  Peggy  O'Dowd,  with  whom  he  was  sitting 
when  the  letter  of  recall  reached  him.  "  If  you  hadn't  sent  for  me," 
he  added  with  a  laugh,  "  who  knows  what  Glorviua's  name  might 
be  now  1 " 

At  present  it  is  Glorvina  Posky  (now  Mrs.  Major  Posky) ;  she 
took  him  on  the  death  of  his  first  wife,  having  resolved  never  to 
marry  out  of  the  regiment.  Lady  O'Dowd  is  also  so  attached  to  it 
that,  she  says,  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  Mick,  bedad  she'd  come 
back  and  marry  some  of  'em.  But  the  Major-General  is  quite  well, 
and  lives  in  great  splendour  at  O'Dowdstown,  with  a  pack  of  beagles, 
and  (with  the  exception  of  perhaps  their  neighbour,  Hoggarty  of 
Castle  Hoggarty)  he  is  the  first  man  of  his  county.  Her  Ladyship 
still  dances  jigs,  and  insisted  on  standing  up  with  the  Master  of  the 
Horse  at  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  last  ball.  Both  she  and  Glorvina 
declared  that  Dobbin  had  used  the  latter  sheamfully,  but  Posky 
falling  in,  Glorvina  was  consoled,  and  a  beautiful  turban  from  Paris 
appeased  the  wrath  of  Lady  O'Dowd. 

When  Colonel  Dobbin  quitted  the  service,  which  he  did  immedi- 
ately after  his  marriage,  he  rented  a  pretty  little  country  place  in 
Hampshire,  not  far  from  Queen's  Crawley,  where,  after  the  passing 
of  the  Reform  Bill,  Sir  Pitt  and  his  family  constantly  resided  now. 
All  idea  of  a  Peerage  was  out  of  the  question,  the  Baronet's  two  seats 
in  Parliament  being  lost.  He  was  both  out  of  pocket  and  out  of 
spirits  by  that  catastrophe,  failed  in  his  health,  and  prophesied  the 
speedy  ruin  of  the  Empire. 

Lady  Jane  and  Mrs.  Dobbin  became  great  friends — there  was  a 
perpetual  crossing  of  pony-chaises  between  the  Hall  and  the  Ever- 
greens, the  Colonel's  place  (rented  of  his  friend  Major  Ponto,  who  was 
abroad  with  his  family).  Her  Ladyship  was  godmother  to  Mrs. 
Dobbin's  child,  which  bore  her  name,  and  was  christened  by  the  Rev. 
James  Crawley,  who  succeeded  his  father  in  the  living  :  and  a  pretty 
close  friendship  subsisted  between  the  two  lads,  George  and  Rawdon, 
who  hunted  and  shot  together  in  the  vacations,  were  both  entered  of 


674  VANITY    FAIR 

the  same  college  at  Cambridge,  and  quarrelled  with  each  other  about 
Lady  Jane's  daughter,  with  whom  they  were  both,  of  course,  in  love. 
A  match  between  George  and  that  young  lady  was  long  a  favourite 
scheme  of  both  the  matrons,  though  I  have  heard  that  Miss  Crawley 
herself  inclined  towards  her  cousin. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  name  was  never  mentioned  by  either 
family.  There  were  reasons  why  all  should  be  silent  regarding  her. 
For  wherever  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  went,  she  travelled  likewise ;  and 
that  infatuated  man  seemed  to  be  entirely  her  slave.  The  ColoneFs 
lawyers  informed  him  that  his  brother-in-law  had  effected  a  heavy 
insurance  upon  his  life,  whence  it  was  probable  that  he  had  been 
raising  money  to  discharge  debts.  He  procured  prolonged  leave  of 
absence  from  the  East  India  House,  and  indeed  his  infirmities  were 
daily  increasing. 

On  hearing  the  news  about  the  insurance,  Amelia,  in  a  good  deal 
of  alarm,  entreated  her  husband  to  go  to  Brussels,  where  Jos  then 
was,  and  inquire  into  the  state  of  his  affairs.  The  Colonel  quitted 
home  with  reluctance  (for  he  was  deeply  immersed  in  his  "  History 
of  the  Punjaub,"  which  still  occupies  him,  and  much  alarmed  about 
his  little  daughter,  whom  he  idolises,  and  who  was  just  recovering 
from  the  chicken-pox)  and  went  to  Brussels  "and  found  Jos  living  at 
one  of  the  enormous  hotels  in  that  city.  Mrs.  Crawley,  who  had  her 
carriage,  gave  entertainments,  and  lived  in  a  very  genteel  manner, 
occupied  another  suite  of  apartments  in  the  same  hotel. 

The  Colonel,  of  course,  did  not  desire  to  see  that  lady,  or  even 
think  proper  to  notify  his  arrival  at  Brussels,  except  privately  to  Jos 
by  a  message  through  his  valet.  Jos  begged  the  Colonel  to  come  and 
see  him  that  night,  when  Mrs.  Crawley  would  be  at  a  soiree,  and 
when  they  could  meet  alone.  He  found  his  brother-in-law  in  a  con- 
dition of  pitiable  infirmity ;  and  dreadfully  afraid  of  Rebecca,  though 
eager  in  his  praises  of  her.  She  tended  him  through  a  series  ol 
unheard-of  illnesses,  with  a  fidelity  most  admirable.  She  had  been  a 
daughter  to  him.  "But — but — oh,  for  God's  sake,  do  come  and 
live  near  me,  and — and — see  me  sometimes,"  whimpered  out  the 
unfortunate  man. 

The  Colonel's  brow  darkened  at  this.  "  We  can't,  Jos,"  he  said. 
"  Considering  the  circumstances,  Amelia  can't  visit  you." 

"  I  swear  to  you — I  swear  to  you  on  the  Bible,"  gasped  out 
Joseph,  wanting  to  kiss  the  book,  "that  she  is  as  innocent  as  a 
child,  as  spotless  as  your  own  wife." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  the  Colonel  gloomily ;  "  but  Emmy  can't 
come  to  you.  Be  a  man,  Jos  :  break  off  this  disreputable  connection. 
Come  home  to  your  family.     We  hear  your  affairs  are  involved." 

"  Involved  !  "  cried  Jos.     "  Who  has  told  such  calumnies  1     All 


I  I' 


VIRTUE    REWARDKD,  A    BOOTH    IN   VANITY    FAIR. 


A    NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO  675 

my  money  is  placed  out  most  advantageously.  Mrs.  Crawley — that 
is— I  mean, — it  is  laid  out  to  the  best  interest." 

"  You  are  not  in  debt  then  ?     Why  did  you  insure  your  life  1 " 

"  I  thought — a  little  present  to  her — in  case  anything  happened  ; 
and  you  knov^  my  health  is  so  delicate — common  gratitude,  you 
know — and  I  intend  to  leave  all  my  money  to  you — and  I  can  spare 
it  out  of  my  income,  indeed  I  can,"  cried  out  William's  weak  brother- 
in-law. 

Tlie  Colonel  besought  Jos  to  fly  at  once — to  go  back  to  India, 
\/hither  Mrs.  Crawley  could  not  follow  him  ;  to  do  anything  to  break 
off  a  connection  which  might  have  the  most  fatal  consequences  to  him. 

Jos  clasped  his  hands,  and  cried, — "  He  would  go  back  to  India. 
He  would  do  anything:  only  he  must  have  time  :  they  mustn't  say 
anything  to  Mrs.  Crawley : — she'd — she'd  kill  me  if  she  knew  it. 
You  don't  kn(jw  what  a  terrible  woman  she  is,"  the  poor  wretch  said. 

"  Then,  why  not  come  away  with  me  ? "  said  Dobbin  in  reply ; 
but  Jos  had  not  the  courage.  "  He  would  see  Dobbin  again  in  the 
morning ;  he  must  on  no  account  say  that  he  had  been  there.  He 
must  go  now.  Becky  might  come  in."  And  Dobbin  quitted  him 
full  of  forebodings. 

He  never  saw  Jos  more.  Three  months  afterwards  Joseph 
Sedley  died  at  Aix-la-Chapelle.  It  was  found  that  all  his  property 
hid  been  muddled  away  in  speculations,  and  was  represented  by 
valueless  shares  in  different  bubble  companies.  All  his  available 
assets  were  tJie  two  thousand  pounds  for  which  his  life  was  insured, 
and  which  were  left  equally  between  his  beloved  "  sister  Amelia, 
wife  of,  &c.,  and  his  friend  and  invaluable  attendant  during  sickness, 
Rebecca,  wife  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  C.B,"  who 
wajs  appointed  administratrix. 

The  solicitor  of  the  Insurance  Company  swore  it  was  the  blackest 
cas'j  that  ever  had  come  before  him  ;  talked  of  sending  a  commission 
to  .\ix  to  examine  into  the  death,  and  the  Company  refused  pay- 
ment of  the  policy.  But  Mrs.,  or  Lady  Crawley,  as  she  styled 
hfrself,  came  to  town  at  once  (attended  with  her  solicitors,  Messrs. 
Biirke,  Thurtell,  and  Hayes,  of  Thavies  Inn),  and  dared  the  Company 
U'  refuse  the  payment.  They  invited  examination,  they  declared 
that  she  was  the  object  of  an  infamous  conspiracy,  which  had  been 
pursuing  her  all  through  life,  and  triumphed  finally.  The  money 
was  paid,  anl  her  character  established,  but  Colonel  Dobbin  sent 
back  his  share  of  the  legacy  to  the  Insurance  Office,  and  rigidly 
declined  to  hold  any  communication  with  Rebecca. 

She  never  was  Lady  Crawley,  though  she  continued  so  to  call 
herself.  His  Excellency  Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley  died  of  yellow 
fever  at  Coventry  Island,  most  deeply  beloved  and  deplored,  and 


676    •  VANITY    FAIR 

six  weeks  before  the  demise  of  his  brother,  Sir  Pitt.     The  estate 

consequently  devolved  upon  the  present  Sir  Rawdon  Crawley,  Bart. 

He,  too,  has  declined  to  see  his  mother,  to  whom  he  makes  a 

liberal  allowance;  and  who,  besides,  appears  to  be  very  wealthy. 

The  Baronet  lives  entirely  at  Queen's  Crawley,  with  Lady  Jane  and 

her  daughter ;  whilst  Rebecca,  Lady  Crawley,  ch^'fly  hangs  about 

Bath  and  Cheltenham,  where  a  very  strong  party  oi  o.icellent  people 

consider  her  to  be  a  most  injured  woman.     She  ha.    her  enemies. 

Who  has  not?     Her  life  is  her  answer  to  them.     She  busies  herself 

in  works  of  piety.     She  goes  to  church,  and  neybr  without  a  footman. 

Her  name  is  in  all  the  Charity  Lists.     The  Dtiitiriite,  Oraug.«^ikl, 

Jhe  Neglected  Washerwoman,  the  Distressed  Muti.i-man,  find  in 

her  a  _  fast  and  generous  friend.      She  is  always  having  stal][r  £t 

Fancy  Fairs  for  the  benefit  of  these  hapless  beings^;    "^mmyTner 

children,  and  the  Colonel,  coming  to  London  some  time  back,  found 

themselves  suddenly  before  her  at  one  of  these  fairs.     She  cast  down 

her  eyes  demurely  and  smiled  as  they  started  away  from  her  ;  Emmy 

skurrying  off  on  \  the  arm  of  George  (now  grow.-^  a  dashing  young 

gentleman),  and  the  Colonel  seizing  up  his  little  Janey,  of  whom  he 

is  fonder  than  of  anything  in  the  world — londt/  even  than  of  his 

"  History  of  the  Punjaub." 

ri        ^'Fonder  than  he  is  of  me,"  Emmy  thinks,  with  a  s'g;h.     But^ 

j!  he  never  said  a  word  to  Amelia  that  was  not  kind  an<j^23ll?.i  SI 

\\  thought  of  a  want  of  hers  that  he  did  not  try  to  grati^'. 

C  Ah  !  Vanitas  Vanitatum  !  which  of  us  is  happy  in  this  world  ? 
J  Which  of  us  has  his  desire?  or,  having  it,  is  satisfied?  Come, 
J  children,  let  us  shut  up  the  box  and  the  puppets,  for  our  play  is 
/  played  out. 


THE   END 


W' 
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